Snowfall
by Kirychan1226
Summary: Steve woke up in a world with no memories of who he was or what he did, so he decided to go to college and become a professor for an academy all about fighting demons or controlling them- he also thinks he lives with one, but that's fine- mostly. Everything's typically fine, until a demon named Bucky Barnes crawls into his life saying they know each other.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**

 **I don't own Marvel, it's characters, or pretty much anything.**

 **This is for my mom. We ship Stucky... a lot. And I've always wanted to give my try at somewhat smut. I have inspiration from a few stories on AO3, but this fanfic is mine and is nothing like them, it's just Bucky is a demon and that's literally the only thing in common. I hope you enjoy reading it.**

 **R &R, Please.**

 ***Edit* I have added little transitions to the chapter to make it easier to interpret. They are the little "oOo" things.**

Demons. While the topic is mostly a standstill on modern views, the existence of demons is irrefutable. They are, however, a crucial part of society- from being the enemy humanity fights against, to being their weapon. The very fabric of reality is warped by these _creatures_ , whom for a lack of a better word, are fiends. Most demons are what you'd expect, twisting masses of darkening, horrendous flesh, horns, tails, gruesome facial features, the entire package. These are known as _lower class_ demons. The entire class is made of demons of primal emotions and urges, with low intelligence and their only desire is cause harm, destruction, and feed on the souls of humans.

The class above it, residing in the middle of the scale, is made of _elementals_. Fire, water, air, earth, and shadow. The elementals can scale from first class damage to rounding about to the class above, in terms of the destruction they can cause. Elementals have forms you'd expect of golems from mythology, fire-types either molten beings or nothing but flames with a personality. Water-types can vary, from ice, to being water themselves, bending water to their will, and sirens and mermaids also fit into that category. Earth types are nothing less than you'd expect- nature and the ground beneath it. From rock-like beings, to hills themselves being slumbering demons, to beings made of vines and blossoming flowers, the earth class is the strongest- in terms of durability. Luckily, earth-classes do not actively seek human souls- rather they are more protective-types, some even protecting entire groves. Throughout history, humans have sought out blessings from earth-type demons, from protecting their crops to allowing safe passage through a forest. Air-types are a broad category, from harpies, to wyverns, to any type of avian-demon and any air-borne being. Some air-types can bend the air to their will, using wind at amazing speeds sharpening the compounds to something no razor can never compare. Air-types do not seek human souls as well- rather they only feed on other demons and are extremely territorial. And finally, _shadow_. Shadow-types are in a tight, narrow class. Only ever to be observed in ethereal, non-solid forms, shadow demons are mainly seen as masses of dark, swirling energy. Their abilities remain unknown, yet it's to be in _theory_ -, they use shadows. Shadow demons hardly make appearances, only a select few ever recorded in history. There are less than a hundred shadow-demon related incidents throughout history, and the shadow-type remains shrouded in mystery. Electricity would have their own class, however the abilities show up in other classes and is quite rare. It's not a normal thing for demons to be able to control electricity, and therefor is just a factor in their abilities.

It's simple knowledge that a _majority_ of demons do **not** have human-like forms. This is reserved for the highest tier, and even then there are only a select few that have human-like appearances. Succubi and Incubi, known as _sex demons_ , have the main appearance of a human. Yet Succubi retain their wings, tails, and horns. Below the knees they have goat-like legs, with hooves as a finish. Yet devoid of fur, rather the skin is mainly smooth- until slightly above the hooves, where it turns into scales. Succubi have colorful, shiny scales on their hips, traveling up and dipping slightly into the curve of their waists. Their tails are smooth, with very small scales ontop of the epidermis, adding a layer of protection they typically lack. The tips of their tails have short, yet fluffy tufts of hair, the color of their hair. The base of their wings peeks from only from their shoulderblades- the leathery appendages similar to that of a bat's. It varies from succubus to succubus, some have scaled wings, others, wings with fur. The horns of a succubus can begin directly above their elf-like ears, or on the top of the head only an inch or two from the hairline. The horns of a succubus are typically curved, like a ram's. However for a select few- mainly those stronger than the general masses, have straightened horns that peek from their hair, standing four or five inches tall.

Incubi are basically succubi, only with a male appearance and anatomy. They are a male equivalent, and are extremely rare. The race of sex-demons is mainly female, and are entirely shameless when it comes to who they seduce. Feeding off the sexual energies of humans is easier when they are unconscious, asleep after the toils of their day.

The highest class of demons is made of extremely powerful, intelligent demons. Succubi, Icubi, Fae, Dragons- the list goes on and on. They are the most-human like when it comes to their personality and their minds, tricksters at heart. Rather than causing masses of destruction and blindly attacking to consume souls, they lure humans into their metaphorical webs- then strike when they are most comfortable. Except for Dragons. They just hoard things and will burn you alive if you try to take their treasure. There's been some cases of Dragons hoarding cars from the 60's. Seriously, don't try to take things from a Dragon. They may be old and radiate wisdom, but they turn into three-year olds throwing a tantrum if you take their shiny. Do **not** try and take things from a Dragon. I'm serious, it won't end well for you.

 **oOo**

A slow, steady inhale. That's all he needed to focus, even with the hundreds of words on the pages in front of him blurring and overlapping. Running his fingers through his bangs for the umpteemth time, Steve sighed deeply as he slowly closed the notebook. He'd been trying to make sense of the scripts in the textbooks for six hours- and has, finally, concluded he won't be able to. Leaning back in his chair, Steve let out a deep sigh and closed his eyes. Thoughts of his research still plagued him, symbols and history nothing but blurred masses of knowledge. He hummed a small tune that suddenly came from his subconscious, unintelligble words whispered in his ear.

 **oOo**

 _"Look at me." Lips pressed to his flesh, breath hot against him. Fingertips ran along his spine, pressing into every dip and curve of his back. A tongue swiped against the shell of his ear, sending shivers crawling up his body. He tilted his head to the side, blue orbs meeting a storm. Hues of silver and gray clashed against white and the lightest shade of blue, surrounding a cat-like pupil. Long wisps of brunette hair framed contoured cheekbones, with bursts of reddish-gold highlighted in the sunlight. Those attractive, swirling orbs looked up at him, framed by long lashes._

 _"That wasn't so bad, now was it?" The demon hummed against his shoulder, gaze never leaving his face. Steve didn't feel uncomfortable pressed against that warm body, rather it was calming. His tension melted away being held by those tattoed arms, feeling those sculpted abs press against his back. Rough palms traveling up the curve of his spine, the slimming of his waist, the soft flesh of his thighs. Kisses peppered along his jaw, fangs pricking his skin on occassion. Yet that sinfully smooth tongue would dart from behind the fangs, lapping up any blood from the cuts. He should felt ashamed when the first moan escaped his lips, capturing the demon's attention. Those stormy ocean-colored orbs seemed to glow with hints of silver, the luminescence reflecting on his pale cheeks. Something changed in the demon's expression, that eerie calm replaced by something more feral. Lust was appearant, yet unconvictional adoration still shone somewhere underneath those primal instincts. Steve felt himself falling for a few seconds, landing onto the matress. The demon instantly was already all over him, lips exploring every dip and rise of Steve's body. He felt fangs puncture the flesh on his hip, little pricks on his collarbone, and the unmistakable pulling and biting of marking. The demon left hickies on his shoulder and random places on his chest, yet had never broke eye-contact. Steve felt another moan rising up his throat, and the moment he made the noise the demon crawled up to capture his lips. Smooth, a little wet, nothing like Steve would have imagined. Little sparks of pleasure left ghostly sensations traveling through his body, and Steve knew he was at the mercy of this very, very attractive demon. Said demon smirked into the kiss, pulling away slightly to allow Steve a few seconds to breathe before he was all over him again. Steve briefly registed a tail wrapping around his left leg, a hand dipping under the hem of his jeans, and fangs biting down onto his bottom lip. The demon growled possessively into the kiss, somehow moving further up Steve's body until he was straddling him. Steve brought his recently idle hands up, gripping the demon's hips. Those stormy gray orbs still remained on his own sky-blue orbs, the two never breaking eye-contact. That mischievious tail had somehow found it's way slithering into his pants, stroking Steve through his boxers. Steve ground his hips at the contact, earning another growl from the demon. He was able to notice the smaller details, the way sweat clung to the demon's tanned flesh, the way his lips were parted. He had control of the situation, even if the demon was denying it. The demon's gaze flickered to Steve's pants, before back up to his face._

 _"Pants... pants.. o-off." The demon managed to choke out words in his low, accented voice between pants. He let out a whine when Steve ground his hips against him again, before a low growl rumbled in his chest. His fingers fumbled with the buttons of Steve's jeans, hastily trying to unbutton the cursed item of clothing. After a few seconds he had figured the buttons out, and pulled down the zipper. The demon stared at Steve's waist for a few seconds, before his feral gaze was back on Steve's face. Steve raised an eyebow, smirking at the demon._

 _"I'm sorry, did you want me to do something?" The demon glowered down at him, fuming silently. Steve tilted his head, staring at the demon through golden bangs. Saying nothing else, Steve lifted his hips with a huff. The demon was a lot heavier than he looked. With a swift flick of his wrists, the demon had Steve's jeans down to his knees. The demon pouted when he saw Steve's boxers, another obstacle between him and Steve's body._

 _"What about you? You may already be shirtless, but you have those leather pants on." Steve interrupted the demon's dumb-founded gazing, which seemed to take the beast out of his stupor. Yet rather than outward aggression like Steve had expected, the demon gaved him a fanged smile, an all-teeth grin._

 **oOo**

"Nat, what was that?" Clint glanced around the living room when an ethereal surge of energy swarmed the house, letting his gaze linger on the demoness next to him. She bristled visually, baring her fangs and snarling. She contemplated the environment, slowly rising to her feet.

"Something broke through my wards." Deep ruby flames formed at her fingertips, illuminating the essences that had passed through the room. It was almost non-existent, simply traces of cold, shadow-like forms. An icy chill penetrated the room, causing goosebumps to form on their skin.

 **oOo**

 _Steve hadn't been expecting to see the demon's pants fade away, falling apart into little black swirling particles. Slowly dissolving, before nothing was covering the demon's lower body. Tail swishing behind him, it was quite obvious the demon felt something akin to pride with having been stared at. If the smug expression on his features was anything to go by, he absolutely loved the attention. He wiggled his hips in desparation for any form of friction, earning a groan from the both of them. The demon leaned forward, hovering over Steve. The long locks of curly brown hair barely brushed against Steve's chest, yet it was the gaze that held him captive. Steve couldn't bring himself to look away, he was drowning in the heat and intensity of those beautiful stormy gray eyes. Fingers that suddenly gained an unsurmountable cache of experience worked with the hem of Steve's boxers, pulling them down with one swift motion. The softness of the demon's body was painfully apparent, the smooth skin oddly supple where it didn't appear to be before. A strange burning sensation started in his chest, pulling him to the demon. He sat up slowly, bringing the demon with him. The demon licked his lips while staring Steve's own, an obvious longing reflected in his gaze. The blond gave the demon a small pout as an open invitation, and in the blink of an eye those desperate touches were all over him. Lips sliding against his own, fingers running along the curve his spine, claws leaving half-moons between his shoulderblades. That sinfully experienced tongue would dart out and leave a line of saliva along his jawline, before the demon was back at his mouth. That burning sensation was flooding his chest again, and Steve found himself complying with the demon's silent wishes._

 _Hands finding their way to the demon's hips, fingers kneading the soft flesh there. He could feel the bones underneath, but they weren't prominent. Rather Steve focused on the way the demon's body interlocked with his like two puzzle pieces, their chests gliding over each other effortlessly. The incubus looked like he was on his last legs, legs weakly wrapped around Steve's waist, constantly shifting. He needed release,_ _ **now**_ _. Even as the demon blindly nipped at Steve's bottom lip for more compliance, he held his ground against the odd being moving against him. There was that blinding, surging pain again. He wasn't moving on his own, something was urging him. The demon didn't seem to mind, hell, the guy seemed elated when he finally was to nip at Steve's tongue. There was so many things that could have distracted Steve, yet the heated look in the demon's eyes as the two held each other's gaze was all he could focus on. The demon eased himself onto Steve, and quite inconviently, it was unlike anything Steve had ever felt before. If the sex-induced pheromones incubi produced when in a form of heat wasn't enough, then having one pressed against him and a breathful of the pheromones was enough to bring him to the edge. A low whine escaped the demon's throat as he visibly relaxed, yet the tension in his legs was still choking the life out of Steve's body. This writhing mess of a demon wanted Steve's attention, and was willing to rock himself on Steve's lap for the attention._

 _Tentative fingers found themselves pressing into Steve's shoulders, yet the fiery gaze remained. The demon let out a sigh as he jerked his hips upwards, before slamming back down onto Steve. Steve found himself losing the battle between self-restraint and giving in to the demon's sinfully delectable body. Self-restraint lost. The little whimpers, sighs, gasps, and moans were a colorful language flowing from the demon's lips, and the warm, slick passage enclosing him was a wonderful sensation to lose himself to. The demon encouraged him to move, and the two of them found a steady rhythm to move to. It was like dancing, yet they only used their hips. The demon seemed to enjoy rocking, rolling his hips in suggestive manners before Steve slammed the demon down onto him. The moan that escaped the demon sent shivers traveling down Steve's spine, and he found an odd sense of satisfaction. The demon found the attention gratifying, if the biting, licking, kissing and sucking on Steve's pulse was anything to go by. Those fluttering, tensing velvety walls pulled Steve deeper and deeper into euphoria, while the demon was slowly reaching his breaking point. The demon hummed against his pulse, arms wrapping around him. Something to hold onto. The demon made a small whine when Steve definitely hit_ _ **something**_ _\- and tried to angle his hips so he could hit that little bundle of nerves over and over._

 _If Steve thought the demon was loud before, it was nothing compared to the string of foreign curses and moans he was making. Inbetween breathless words were hums, jibberish, slurred encouragement, and low growling. Yet above the low, guttural sounds, the demon sounded quite pleased. If being swallowed by soft walls that clenched around with every movement wasn't enough, the tongue dragging along his pulse was a good encouraging factor. However the soft whines and hums whenever the demon jerked his hips up to meet Steve's rhythm was nice too. The way their chests slid against each other, the way the demon's ass felt underneath his fingers- soft puffs of air being panted in his ear, and words being moaned that sounded suspiciously like his own name._

 _"St...Steve..." And there it was, the first understandable word the demon had managed since he found himself in Steve's lap. Steve knew what it was for. The demon was finally going over the edge after who knows how long. Each stroke was another line added to the list, another added claw mark on his back. He wouldn't say he was waiting for it to happen... but... he was waiting for it. When that softness sheathing him tensed almost painfully, he know the demon finally was sent into his own world of euphoria. With a low growl, the demon bit into Steve's shoulder, yet it was painless. Even as ruby droplets rolled down his chest, he felt no pain. A small burning sensation remained in his chest, blossoming like a flower. He felt the sticky warmth clinging to him, and knew the demon had quite the reservoir. It remained pointless, however. The demon was focused on bringing Steve over the edge. Curious fingers traveled south, poking, prodding, pulling. Sometimes cupping, yet it remained more of a massage. That didn't mean the demon couldn't multitask... he did have a tail, afterall._

 _Oh, the colorful curses that left Steve's mouth would have made even his father lecture him. It didn't help the demon's case either, since his tail was quite... sensitive. The tension began as an unbearable heat pooling between his thighs, a coil wounding itself in his body. When the demon had his second release of the night, it finally pulled Steve over the edge. Yet rather than relaxation coming with the release, it was followed by nothing but exhaustion. He'd studied for things like this. Don't give into succubi and incubi, yet he did. And that scar now painting the flesh of his collarbone caused more warning signals in his mind to appear. The demon whispered little sounds of encouragement into his ear, milking him for every drop of energy he could. He shouldn't be doing this. He should feel ashamed for giving into the demon's wishes... something in him just refused to let that happen. His emotions were twisting, turning, and fighting each other. The lips pressed against his flesh were a minor distraction, however it did very little to ease the white-hot, burning pain he felt. If the demon kept feeding off his energy like this, he'd tap into Steve's life-force. And in all honesty, Steve didn't want the demon to go there._

 _"Shh... don't worry... I'll leave ya some... I'll be comin' back." The demon purred the words against his pulse, feeling just as exhausted, if not more than Steve did. His tail managed to weakly wiggle it's way out of Steve, falling limp against the bedsheets. If Steve thought he night couldn't get any worse, then he was wrong. The incubus was falling asleep against him, body sluggishly trying to register the hallucination they were currently in._

 _"...Th' names'... James. Call me Bucky if ya want." He whispered drowsily, gray eyes glinting in the fading light. Steve opened his mouth to reply, with something, anything, yet found his muddled mind incapable of forming a response. Rather he settled for a nod, heat rushing to his cheeks as he sweeped the demon's body with his gaze._

 _"Okay... Bucky... that's.. interesting." He raised an eyebrow at that, turning to 'Bucky'. The demon shifted his weight, which was becoming uncomfortable for the both of them. Bucky simply pressed his cheek into Steve's chest, staring up at him with those stormy gray orbs of his._

 _"Middle names' Buchanan. That's where it came from... the nickname 'Lucky Bucky' ended up sticking, so..." Bucky spoke softly, a silvery tone that was soothing. He breathed in Steve's scent, a flush spreading across his cheeks when it hadn't been there before. He pressed his lips to that odd scar that was beginning to look an awful lot like a demonic sigil, humming against the flesh. His eyes fluttered shut, and thick, long lashes casted faint shadows on his cheeks._

 _"Lucky Bucky?" Steve snorted, a smirk finding it's way to his features as he slowly leaned back onto the bed, bringing the incubus with him. Bucky made a small noise of displeasure, before relaxing into the curves of Steve's body. Bucky placed a kiss to the scar that formed on Steve's collarbone, which had just began to ache. He could feel consciousness beginning to slip away from him, the exhaustion setting in as the demon finally stopped absorbing his energy._

 **oOo**

"Steve! Steve! Wake up!" Natasha's voice broke through the heavy air, rousing the blond from his hallucinative slumber. He was covered in a thin layer of sweat, his face paler than it'd ever been. His pupils were dialated, that small essence of black swallowed by bright blue. Steve's gaze darted around his room, before he let out a sigh of relief. His mind was still fighting the thin line between this world and the next, every other time he blinked he was back with the demon who was beginning to look uncomfortable.

"Tas.. what..?" Natasha held up a hand to silence him, flames still simmering at her fingertips. She began to draw runes in the air, flames glowing brightly, almost blindingly. The spell was met with resistance, the room dropping several degrees. A low growl erupted from a corner of the room, where a shadowy pressence stood. He bared his fangs, challenging the demoness. In the blink of an eye, Natasha was in front of him with a dagger pressed to his throat. Her gaze followed up to the demon's face, passing over the bloodied gash on his chest.

"Why are you here?" Answers were required. She demaned from the demon, who kept an emotionless expression despite being the one with a dagger pressed to his throat.

"That's none of your business." The demon growled out his response as he tilted his head upwards slightly, an attempt to appear taller, to loom over Natasha. His instincts may have been running wild, yet he wished to act if _he_ was the one in control of the situation.

"It very damn well _is_ my business. You break through _my_ wards, come through _my_ house, and then take advantage of one of _my_ humans-" Natasha's voice raised with anger, however she was cut off by the tutting of the demon before her.

"... _Your_ humans? You're only bonded with one of them. The blond was free game. And might I add you have some _very_ weak wards? I bet an imp could slip through those." He glared down at her, spitting out his words venomously. A sudden fire seemed to gleam in his eyes, emotions unknown brewing behind those gray orbs.

"You dare to speak to me about _bonding_? That's ironic, _Barnes_." She retorted with the same intensity in her tone, those greenish-gray orbs boring holes into him. He simply blinked slowly, a smirk finding it's way onto his features.

"Pity for you, that's what I've done." With a swift flick of his wrist, he pointed to the healing wound on his chest. It was undeniably forming to be a demonic symbol, the one which binds demon to human. Natasha sneered at the mark, her face twisting into a grimace. She slowly turned her head in Steve's direction, who was staring at the two with wide-eyes.

"Nat... what is he talking about? What did he _do_?" Steve softly exhaled the words, suddenly feeling exhaustion creep into his bones. He was tired, for no reason he could think of. The world around him began to spin, his vision dimming before he blacked out. Natasha let out a sigh, slowly pivoting on her heel as she removed the blade from the other demon's throat. He continued to put off an aura of pride, at his own work of course. Natasha let out a grunt as she gave Steve a once-over, barely letting her gaze linger on any part of his body for a few seconds. She sighed again, gripping the dagger in her hand tightly. Not even looking in the fiend's direction, she spoke the words the both of them already knew.

"He won't be able to go to work for a few days. Whatever you did, you tired him out, drained almost all of his energy. It's a miracle you didn't kill him, Barnes. Nobody's been able to drive Steve to this point of exertion and exhaustion, yet you sneak in and you nearly suck the life out of him." Natalia fumed in an sharp tone, glowering at Barnes through thick eyelashes. She slid her dagger into the sheath on her hip, and with a wave of her hand she signaled Clint, who had been standing in the doorway the entire time, to set down his bow. The blond in the doorway tilted his head slightly, raising an eyebrow as he relaxed the drawstring. He mouthed something to Natasha with a concerned expression, before regarding Steve's form. The blond looked sickly, like he had in a life he couldn't remember. Dark bags were forming under his eyes, his skin looked blanched, and sweat clung and ran down his body. His breathing was clearly labored, as if he was being actively constricted. Natasha frowned at his appearance, ushering Clint over.

"We need something to... his condition- y-yeah, do you have any of those herbs? The ones you used before?" Clint stumbled over his words, yet gestured to Steve either way. Natasha understood what he had meant, and nodded in his direction.

"They're in the cabinet, where I keep everything else. Go! He's only going to get worse if we don't do something. I'll try to stabilize him with magic." She ushered Clint out of the room just as the ruby-colored flames from earlier appeared on her fingertips once again. This time however, she slowly padded on the carpet over to Steve, hands hovering a few inches away from his face. She began to focus some of her own energy into Steve, and was met with heavy resistance. The demon standing a few feet away let out a low guttural growl, no doubt feeling immense pain from Natasha accessing Steve's own spiritual energy. Their bond was newly formed, dangerous, unstable. If she could contemplate his future actions, she might have an advantage to break the bond and prevent him from returning, yet her instincts fought against the logical side of her mind. The room was beginning to drop several degrees as the minutes went on, and Steve was showing no signs of improving. With a huff, Natasha pulled away from him, the flames on her hands instantly going out. The incubus hadn't moved, rather he was inspecting Steve from a distance. He cast Natasha a glance, before his gaze returned to Steve. If his stiff posture couldn't express his discomfort, the way he pressed his lips together until they were turning white added to it. There was an uncertainty in his gaze, perhaps a form of guilt or regret. However, he stayed where he stood, as silent as ever.

Clint hurried back into the bedroom, with a satchel that reeked of powerful demonic herbs. He took note of the demon's pressence, holding his tongue despite his need to protest. He tossed the bag over to Natasha, who opened it as quickly as she could and began sorting out the nessecary items. The demon watched her every movement, glaring at every item she pulled from the satchel. He had opened his mouth to bare his fangs every once in a while, yet made no noise. As Natasha worked on creating an elixir that would _hopefully_ save Steve's condition, she didn't notice how he stirred in his feverish sleep. Clint kept his sight on Natasha, watching her as she worked. The _demon,_ however, was only interested in Steve. When Steve tossed in his chair with discomfort painted on his features, the demon was at his side in the blink of an eye. He leaned over Steve, long dark brown locks of hair touching the blond's shoulder. He whispered something into Steve's ear, which made the bloodied mark on his chest glow faintly. The sigil seemed to mend itself, becoming nothing more than a scar marring Steve's otherwise flawless skin. The demon kept an impassive expression, yet eternally he was feeling all of the pain Steve had previously felt. The mark on his chest re-opened, ruby droplets rolling down his bare chest. His vision blurred, and slowly darkened as consciousness began to slip away. He hit the floor with a thud, yet Steve still didn't stir. With a sigh, Natasha knew her and Clint would have to take the two to the hospital- and it'd be an unpleasant drive.

 **oOo**

 _The sky above was as white as the snow beneath his feet, the cold biting through his skin. The flurry of snowflakes swarming him seemed to target him, almost every cluster of ice particles landing on exposed, tainted flesh. The cold air made every breath sting, yet he stood resilient. Wrapping his arms around himself, Steve squinted through the harsh storm in futile efforts to find anything in the wintery wasteland. Miles of icy tundra before him, and on all sides encased by tall glaciers. He was trapped, his only company the harsh winds and the thudding of his own heartbeat. He found himself wandering, and whenever he was getting close to going somewhere, he somehow found himself back where he started, in the middle of it all. The storm raged on around him, the frost biting at his skin which now had a dark flush to it. He wished himself to be somewhere else,_ _ **anywhere**_ _else, and then suddenly he felt his head becoming too heavy to hold up. His body followed shortly after, colliding with the pillowy, frozen land beneath. The world around him became dark, and then soon after he was pulled by the strong call of slumber. He seemed to awake only seconds afterwards._

 _A small crowd was gathered in a pub, and all of them seemed to be members of the military. Only four or five of them had the badges that marked them handlers of demons, who stood obediently in the background, heads hung low, postures stiff and eeriely silent. Steve boggled at the situation, utterly confused. A minute ago he was freezing to death, and here he was, in the midst of a celebration. Yet, no one saw him. People passed right through him as they walked by, it was simply an illusion. He tried pulling himself out of it, rather finding comfort in being alone than being unseen, ignored, invisible to others. His lungs felt constricted, and seconds later Steve could barely breathe at all. He continued to watch the unfolding scene before him, the celebration that grew louder, that grew more excited with every passing second. Steve gave himself a second glance, and realized he was wearing one of the uniforms. He was dressed as an officer. He remained a phantom to their senses, invisible and silent. When the crowd stood up and all looked towards the door, Steve found himself able to breathe again. The tight coils in his lungs relaxed, and the stuffed atmosphere suddenly felt empty, too cold. Someone gallivanted into the pub, their head held high, a large smirk adorning their features. Blond hair neatly combed and gelled, bright blue eyes shining with a fiery intensity. It was him. Steve, was seeing_ _ **himself**_ _. Through how, what means, he couldn't comprehend. All he could do was observe as the_ _ **other**_ _him went up and got applauds from the crowd, a hugs from a few of them. Close friends, perhaps. They conversed, laughed, and gave each other friendly punches on the shoulders. The words were gibberish to Steve, he couldn't understand a single syllable. Steve reached out to the other image of himself, who he just noticed wasn't translucent like he was. Yet there was clear pain in the man's eyes, a longing, a desperate desire for something he didn't have. What could Steve have possibly wanted? Why was he here? He was never in a war. He was never in the military. As his mind tried to give answers to the questions that continued to pile upon each other, the pub grew silent. He thought he did something, until he recognized what, or more specifically who, they were looking at. A rugged looking man had stepped into the pub, scratches and bruises on his face, gauze wrapped around his torso, blood soaking through his blue overcoat, short scruffy hair, stubble growing on his chin. Stormy gray orbs were shining with adoration, relief, and regret all at once. Directed at Steve, the one that wasn't faded from existence. As the two continued to behold each other's appearances, Steve was able to watch as the two clearly had similar expressions of shock, and elation at once. The unnamed, yet strangely familar man dropped his rifle onto the ground, and ran to the other Steve. The two embraced each other, and the brunet began to cry in the blond's arms. Suddenly, all their words made sense. Whispers of adoration, tears of joy, and relief._

 _"Bucky- you're- you're alive!" The blond finally spoke as Bucky pulled away from him, tears glimmering in his eyes. He had a lopsided-grin, showing his pearly teeth, eyes crinkling as the smile met his eyes. Steve cupped the brunet's face, pressing their foreheads together. The brunet let out a small chuckle, which soon morphed into sobs. He wanted to bury himself in the blond, he was scared. It was obvious in his every movement. They turned his little precious Stevie into a weapon. He'd been declared KIA over three months ago. Yet there he stood, in arms that were strong, arms that were warm and comfortable. He didn't care if there were other soldiers around, he didn't care the amount of weakness he was showing. He was finally home, even if it was a tear-stained reunion. His fingers weakly gripped Steve's jacket, as he forced himself to push away to gaze up into those blue eyes that stayed the same, even after all that time away._

 _"Y-yeah, I guess I am. What about you though? Are you okay? What did they to you?" Bucky's tone had started out soft, calm, and quiet, then quickly morphed into nothing but concern for Steve. The blond chuckled and shook his head, letting his eyes flutter shut for a few seconds, drawing Bucky to his chest to hold the smaller man for a few more seconds. He muttered something into his hair, opening his eyes a few seconds after he did so. He was rubbing soothing circles on Bucky's back, the man slowly relaxing into the touch._

 _"I'm fine, Buck. Better than ever, actually. No more asthma, brittle bones- and every other problem I ever had. I'm the spitting image of health, according to literally everyone. And you know what I did with it? I stayed being the same person I've always been. Standing up for others." Steve was cupping Bucky's cheeks, rubbing circles with his thumbs along the sharp, protruding cheekbones the brunet had. He'd definitely looked like he'd been to hell and back, and clearly was tired from where-ever he had come from._

 _"Did it hurt?" Bucky's voice was filled with concern all over again, his lonely, sorrowful, lost, longing gaze directed back into Steve's eyes. The blond just smiled, and gave him a small smile._

 _"A little." Bucky visibly swallowed, pulling back a foot or so to take in Steve's new appearance. His gaze swept up and down Steve's figure, lingering at his thighs, his biceps, his chest, and his face. He appeared to be in deep contemplation, but someone else's voice broke him from his stupor._

 _It was then that their words were no longer making sense to Steve, and he was simply standing there as a ghost, watching a reunion between himself, a version of himself he couldn't remember- a version that just didn't_ exist _, and another person. He could tell from the way they looked at each other they were much more than friends, yet no one commented on it. It's as if they didn't break the new-found peace, another reason to celebrate. Someone had fetched Bucky a glass of scotch, to which he gulped down greedily. Steve admired the man's appearance, as damaged and clearly injured it was. A sharp, pronounced jawline. Sculpted eyes, that were hooded in the most attractive way. Long eyelashes, short brown hair. He had strange curved cuts on his left cheek, dried blood on his earlobes from most likely ruptured eardrums, bruises all over his face, his neck, his arms, and even cuts, scratches, and bruises all over his chest from what was showing. His shirt only opened to slightly below his collarbone, dark wispy hairs peeking from underneath the tattered green fabric. His boots were dirty, scuffed, the soles worn down considerably. He appeared to have standard-issue trousers, torn at the knees, and at the ankles. He looked worse for the wear, and had a limp as he walked. Steve recoiled slightly, scowling at the man. Something at the back of his mind was screaming at him, warning signals being set off as he continued to gape at the brunet. Something deep within his chest began to ache, emotions crashing as waves over him. He couldn't explain his own reactions, and found tears rolling down his cheeks as that brunet was reunited with the non-transparent Steve. Something... pained him, on a deep level, a nagging feeling swelling in his chest. His eyes fluttered shut, those little salty droplets clinging to his eyelashes._

 _Steve felt something creep up behind him, and arms wrap around his waist. Lips were pressed to his shoulder, long brown hair tickling his cheek. He barely tilted his head to see who it was, and found himself in an entire new world of confusion. This man looked almost exactly like the person who had stumbled into the pub, only he wasn't injured, had longer hair, and had a bit more stubble. Yet those eyes were almost the same, a stormy gray that pierced into his soul. His chest constricted at the sight of him, and he felt words dying in his throat. Steve didn't know what to say, what to ask, all he do is try to put together the pieces that slipped from his fingers._

 _"Do you remember any of this?" The demon hesitated in asking, yet something compelled him to finally speak to Steve. He already knew the answer to his question, Steve didn't remember anything. It was like an entirely different life, one he'd most likely never remember. Yet a glimmer of hope remained in his eyes, and he forced down peppering kissing along Steve's jawline, to make the distraught expression fade away. He knew he looked equally pained, his heart being pulled in all kinds of directions. He didn't want to hear Steve's answer. He didn't want to have to see that look- that pained, confused look on him any longer. He didn't want to hurt him, he didn't want to force his mind to wrap around memories that would never make any sense. Too many pieces were missing._

 _"No. But... the... man, he... he seems familiar. Bucky, I think that was his name." Steve apologized in a tight voice, trying to assess what his answer would mean to the demon. He watched with a steady gaze as the demon's pupils dialated to those cat-like slits, before slowly returning to little ebony orbs. Steve felt another pang of guilt for something he didn't understand again, as the demon's expression morphed into something of pure agony. The way those stormy gray eyes clouded over, the way he looked dead to the world with nothing but a small scowl and the furrowing of his brows to lay himself to rest with._

 _"That's okay. You don't have to know him. He's long gone." The demon proceeded in a flat tone, expression now void of any emotion. His gaze was focused somewhere else, along with his mind. He looked oddly dejected from the world, and Steve knew it was clear that his answer had truly hurt the demon, if it was even possible._

 _"What do you mean, he's gone?" Steve cautiously begged the demon for answers, only met with the tension seeping into the demon's form. His shoulders squared out, muscles flexing as his posture became stiff and rigid._

 _"Dead." The demon confirmed the lies in his own mind, his eyes flashing with an emotion Steve couldn't place. The demon's stormy, silvery gaze slowly traveled over to meet Steve's sky-blue one. The only emotion Steve could place was the dreadfully obvious pain that were reflected in that storm, shadowed by thick lashes. The demon swallowed audibly as he gestured towards the door._

 _"If you go through, you'll wake up. You don't want to stay here. There's nothing more that you'll be able to understand. You're still recovering from... what I did." Steve furrowed his eyebrows as he regarded the demon with a tinge of scrutiny and wonder. He opened his mouth to say something, but quickly closed it and bit down on his bottom lip. That longing, sorrowful admiration reflecting in the demon's eyes tore pieces of his soul to shreds, his heart yearning for more answers. All he could muster was a nod, as he pushed past the demon, trying to ignore the rummaging glare the demon was giving him. He stopped at the pub's doors, pivoting on his heel to spare the demon one last glance. He saw Bucky a few feet away, looking like he was about to faint. One of the soldiers was helping to hold him up, and they were all conversing, still distorted murmurs to Steve's ears. The demon's face was obscured by his hair, the long brown locks casting dark shadows on his face. Steve slowly looked away, fingers finding the handle of the door. As he opened it, there was nothing but a blinding, bright light outside. Inhaling deeply as he stepped outside, his world churned and he suddenly felt the urge to vomit into the white void._

 **oOo**

The coppery smell of blood was the first scent that reached Steve's nose as he was pulled back into reality, and the first thing he saw was Natasha's concerned expression. She gave a sigh of relief, shaking her head at him. Steve felt unnaturally heavy, barely able to move. He tried to remember the fading memories, conversation and things he saw while under the hallucination of the incubis' faulty bonding-techniques. Clint was beside him, running his fingers through his hair. Steve squinted at his surroundings, noticing the absence of said demon.

"Hey, Nat, Clint." Steve greeted the two drowsily, his words slightly slurring as he was slowly waking up from his deep, recuperative slumber. He blinked a few times to fight off the tendrils of sleep that stubbornly called him, only to find himself boggled at where he was. He was in the hospital, not his bedroom. Turning his head to get a better look at the room, it was indeed a hospital room. There were beeping monitors, IVs, the ugly, uncomfortable bed underneath his body, the entire package. Concern laced his features as he squinted at the light that was unbearably bright, eyebrows furrowing as they always did. Clint leaned back in the chair he was in, disregarding Steve's apparent confusion. The blond man let out a sigh, chewing on his bottom lip. Natasha remained seated on the side of Steve's bed. She kept an even expression, blank, as she normally would appear. However Steve knew his friends, and there was something wrong. While they were being stubborn, he knew how to get them to talk.

"How long have I been out?" Steve demanded in a gravelly tone, his mind seeking the answer to his own question even if it wasn't fathomable. Natasha visibly tensed, if only for a few seconds. She breathed in through her nose, opening her eyes to give Steve a sympathic stare.

"Three days." She replied in a tight voice, eyes betraying her as they glimmered with a hint of rage. Steve swallowed the lump in his throat, nodding at her. The movement itself was tiring, and sleep wished to call Steve back. He resisted the dark tendrils of his subconscious, forcing himself to focus on his surroundings- and his friends.

"Where's the demon that did this to me?" It was then Steve knew the two were hiding things from him, as both of them suddenly had distant, far-off expressions. It was Clint's turn to speak, and he did so as he looked away from Steve.

"He's in a coma. The only reason you're awake so early is that he took the strain of your depleted energy to himself. All of the exhaustion, pain, and injuries you'd suffer, he's currently suffering. To speed up his own recovery, he put himself in a coma." Clint slowly turned his body to face Steve, their gazes meeting. Cogs in Steve's mind finally began to turn as he turned to Natasha, who was also looking at him. Her lips were that bright red like they always were, matching the color of her fiery hair. Her gaze had the same intensity, like a pair of emeralds amongst a dark abyss. It was a nice contradiction to the horns that peeked out from her hair, small, curling inwards and sweeping behind her ears. She glanced at the floor for a few seconds, before her gaze flickered back up to Steve's face.

"Steve, do you know him?" Natasha urged Steve for an answer with the wave of a hand, concern painted on her features. She only ever let her emotional walls down when it was Steve or Clint, and the both of them were honored she'd put so much trust in them. Steve knew she expected the same of them, and found himself fighting his own mind to pry answers from his subconscious.

"I...think so. He... showed me something, when I was asleep. Memories. Something I don't remember and I never will." Steve explained his dreams as slowly and carefully as he could, since it didn't even make sense to him. Even then, they were beginning to fade away faster than he could blink. Within a few seconds he couldn't remember it at all, and all he knew is he had a conversation with the demon about something important, but what, why, and when was lost. "I... already forgot what it was about." Steve groaned as he leaned back into the pillow, glaring at the ceiling heatedly. It had offended it in every way possible, being such an ugly color and pattern. He hated white. It got so stained easily. There were times it was coated in blood. When that little thought came to his mind, an imagine flashed in his memories, of a woman wearing a field medic's uniform, her chest covered in blood, gloves on her hands, which also were coated in blood. There was shouting, people screaming. He was drowning in the immense pain, and almost lost himself to battle of his own mind before a loud crack rang through the air. It took him a few seconds to realize Clint had slapped him, eyes glazed over with contemplation.

"Hey, Steve, try to stay with us, okay? Whatever the demon's putting in your head, push it out." Clint tried to sound sincere, concerned, yet he sounded too angry, too stern for himself. He was always the jokester, pranking Natasha and Steve at the worst times, failing to read the atmosphere, and making jokes at the worst times. He was being too serious, and Steve hated every second of it.

"I'm... here, I think." Steve eluded the request, trying to coax his friends with a wavering tone that he knew would convince absolutely no one. Cringing at the weak words that had slipped from his mouth, Steve relaxed into the too-hard-to-be-comfortable bed. Clint's fingers began to run through his hair again, and sleep claimed the blond all too quickly. It was too welcoming, it wished for his return. As did the demon he was told to avoid and not listen to.

 **oOo**

 _Steve didn't know why he was expecting a frozen wasteland or a bar, yet he got something entirely different. It was a house, a bit small, old, dusty, yet it was comfortable._ _He felt safe there, even though he was transparent just as before. No memories were stirring, nothing was familiar, yet on an instinctual level, he knew this house. Sunlight filtering in through the windows, the quiet buzz of life outside the walls. While Steve would always prefer peace and quiet over anything else, the disturbances felt so natural, comforting. Taking a deep breath of the musty air, the drifting scent of apples reached his nose. He didn't even have to think as he found himself in the kitchen, watching that brunet from the last dream glaring at the oven. He was clean-shaven, didn't have the dark bags under his eyes, and looked slightly younger. He wasn't worn out, tired, or had seen a war yet. Steve took some form of comfort at his realization, seeing the brunet suffer stirred something in him that he couldn't quite explain. The brunet gave a huff at the stove, standing up and stretching. Just as he looked like he was about leave, a short, lanky, weak-looking blond came in. He looked like a twelve-year old with an adult's face, and it set off all kinds of alarms in Steve's mind. The brunet greeted the blond with a wave, a light blush dusting his cheeks._

 _"Buck, patience. Glaring at pastries wont make it bake faster." Steve was horrified to hear his own voice coming out of this... small, weak person. They looked like they'd die after just one punch. He even looked sickly, skin pale, dark bags under his eyes, and scrapes and bruises coating his cheeks and his arms. He looked like he'd recently gotten himself into a fight- and Steve knew this person would never win anything._

 _"Sorry, Stevie, but it smells good... 'sides, it's only got 'bout five more minutes left." This version of Bucky was undeniably different, and the accent he had was thick and screamed Brooklyn. Steve didn't know if he was surprised, or delighted, to know the brunet had such a nice voice. Not tired and distant like it was before, it was full of life, mischief. Something Steve wished the brunet had before, even if it was clear this was further in the past. He caught a glance of the demon standing in the corner, and the memory paused. The demon gestured at the pair, his gaze mirroring that of a corpse's._

 _"Do you know them?" The demon was intent on interrogating Steve about the two in suspended animation, and Steve shifted his weight on his feet as he kept an even gaze with the demon. They never looked away from each other, even as Steve shook his head. Once again, disappointment overtook the demon's features. He looked so lost, broken. The world around Steve slowly shifted, shimmering away to nothingness. It was just him and the demon in a gray void, the color matching the demon's eye-color._

 _"Steve. Please." The demon's pleaded with Steve, his voice rung in Steve's ears. He sounded distressed, he was begging Steve to remember something he believed something that didn't exist. He shook his head at the demon, who slowly approached Steve with one hand in the air. It was then Steve noticed the demon was wearing more clothes than before, an actual shirt and not just leather pants. It was old, torn, the color faded to a light brown. There were a lot of holes in the shirt, some from cigarettes, others clearly from struggle. The demon stopped a few feet away from him, fingers slipping up from Steve's collarbone to his throat._

 _"Don't leave me here, Stevie." The demon begged him, staring up into his eyes. He couldn't tear his gaze away from those gray orbs, watching the cat-like pupils constantly fluxuate between orbs and little daggers amongst the storm. Steve blinked slowly, curling his lips upwards as he regarded the demon with a look of confusion. Leave the demon where? In his own dreams?_

 _"Leave you where?" Steve felt betrayed by his own voice, it was so small and insignificant unlike the question he had asked of the demon. Expecting words from the demon, Steve found himself baffled in surprise when the demon pressed his lips to his own. It was chaste, small, and he pulled back only after a few seconds. It wasn't even long enough for Steve to register the notion, but he reacted after too long of a span of time. He'd never seen a demon look so nervous, have so many human-like emotions coursing through them. Steve opened his mouth to lecture the demon for the small, simple act, yet the burn in his chest was a great enough pain to cause him to shut his mouth and wince. The demon pressed his palm to the sigil on Steve's chest, the pain easing away in a matter of seconds._

 _"Without you." And there it was, the demon had finally managed to push words out of his mouth. His voice was as low, accented, and scratchy as before. He chewed on his bottom lip, fangs poking into the flesh, drawing blood. The ruby droplets ran down his chin, breaking the demon out of his own stupor as he tried to wipe the blood away on his sleeve. Steve watched with indifference, that nagging feeling in his soul, pulling at his heart. There was something wrong, there's been something wrong ever since he met the demon in his dreams. The demon longed for him, it was painstakingly obvious, yet Steve couldn't reciprocate the feelings. The emotions were lost to him, just as the shimmering expanse around them began to fade. Steve was waking up._

 **oOo**

Steve was kept in the hospital for another day before being released, his spiritual energy levels finally stable, along with his body. He was free to return to his work as a proffessor, teaching about demons and their arts at a prestigous academy. He'd been the only proffessor there without a demon bound to him, and he planned on remaining that way. He hadn't seen or heard a sliver of the demon that had marked him, and was still unaware if the demon remained in a coma or not. Steve knew it was against society's rules by a far, far throw, but if the demon was still in a coma, he'd feel guilty, and regret would flood his system and drag his performance to hell. So, Natasha and Clint didn't tell him anything on that matter. They ushered him to return to teaching classes, just as the students had missed their very good looking proffessor, who was single, around their age, and a genius. While Steve usually hated being reminded of his age and appearance, this week would a fresh start. He could leave his confusion and broken mind behind, and return to the stone-faced proffessor that dished sarcasm whenever a student would misbehave during sessions. It was entertainment, watching as they recoiled when their supposedly mature proffessor threw the same amount of sass at them as they did to him. Steve loved that part.

"Now then, please turn to page three-hundred-ninety-four of Erskine's Libram of Elemental Demonology. Do not laugh at the name, I'm aware it's horrible but I didn't write it so keep your corny jokes to yourselves." Steve announced to the class, pushing his glasses that were slowly sliding off his face back up. He pointed to the blackboard which was behind him, which already had the titles of the topic the students would be researching that day. Steve was always prepared, had things ready early before the classes even started. As some of the students snickered and made comments on the name of the textbook. Rolling his eyes, Steve pivoted on his heel to sweep the crowd of students with his fiery blue gaze. They instantly quieted, silence overtaking the room as the once-chattering students hastily flipped to the page they were supposed to be on. Steve had his hands behind his back, fingers interlacing. When he had every students' attention, he nodded and began the explanation, or summary, of the topic they'd be working on that day.

"As I'm quite aware your subsitute last week taught you- there are five types of demons residing in the elemental class. Fire, Water, Earth, Air, and Shadow. You've covered the broad topics of known demons within each sub-class, and you're aware electricity is an uncommon ability that is a rare factor, yet is strong enough to be qualified as it's own type. Now, would one of you like to explain why it does not have it's own sub-class?" Steve addressed the students with his proffessional tone, skipping any mindless chatter and beginning straight on as to why they were there that day. When one of the students raised her hand, Steve rummaged his mind to remember her name.

"Miss Maximoff?" Steve directed his gaze in the brunette's direction, the girl biting on her bottom lip, clearly gathering her courage to speak in front of all of the students. After a few seconds of deep inhales and comforting words from her twin, she stood and began to explain.

"Electricity-types are not their own sub-class in the elemental-scale because they are not separate demons- like how water sub-classes have abilities revolving around water itself, or ice, which is a form of water. Electricity-types do not control lightning or the electricity running through city grids on their own- it is a rare ability found in all other elemental sub-classes except for shadow. For example, a fire sub-class could merge sparks of electricity with a fireblast, causing an exceptional amount of damage where fire alone would not be as destructive. The weaker elementals cannot weave electricity into their attacks, and even the stronger ones have difficulties. It's simply a factor, depending on the demon." Wanda finished in a slightly prideful tone, bowing before she sat down. Steve nodded in her direction, as the classroom burst into murmurs and the sounds of pencils scratching against paper.

"I take it your _subsitute_ did not make that clear last weak from how many of you are taking notes." Steve muttered to himself as he turned to pick up a piece of chalk and began writing the charts for the elementals, and simple summoning circles. He turned to the students with a smirk, catching most of the crowd's attention. A majority of the girls were melting at his appearance, the uptilt of his lips seductive, even if he wasn't trying at all.

"Then I guess we'll begin on _why_ it's not common, as it is a natural product of the elements themselves." Steve waved towards the chalkboard, and the day began with quite the burst of productivity. He was the academy's favorite proffessor, the ratings from the students, the parents, the other proffessors, and the headmaster himself.

 **oOo**

As soon as he was home, Steve kicked off his shoes, leaving them at the door, and sauntered into his room to escape the confines of his suit. While expensive, form-fitting, Steve hated it with a fiery passion. With gold cuff-links, a tight leather belt, straightened black dress-pants, a very nice suit-jacket with some embroidery, it looked great on him. He still hated it. Shedding the offensive, evil piece of clothing in a matter of two minutes, Steve stretched at his new-found freedom, wearing nothing but his boxers and a pair of striped socks. He was about to leave his room until he remembered Clint was off work that day, and didn't want to make the poor archer uncomfortable. With a sigh, Steve fit himself into a pair of jeans and a gray slim-fit T-shirt. It had a small dark colored logo on the right sleeve, which Steve didn't bother finding out what it was. Rolling his shoulders in a shrug to relieve the tension that had built up during the day, he exited his room to find Clint sitting on the couch watching the news. Nothing exactly interesting, just another demon-attack in a major city with a small amount of casualties, and a lot of people injured. Steve sighed at the TV, picking up the remote without Clint noticing and turned it off. The archer turned to him with an expression of fake shock, placing a hand over his chest and batting his eyelashes.

"Steeeeeve~" Clint whined out the taller blond's name, pushing out his lips in a pout. Steve simply stood there and blinked slowly, shaking his head.

"That's enough television for you, you might figure out the world's not all puppies, rainbows and sunshine." Clint huffed with indignation, clearly faking his vexed attitude. Rather the shorter man had a smirk slowly pulling at his lips, before he burst out into giggles. Steve snorted at the man's antics, shaking his head as he followed in the contagious laughter.

"You should have seen your face-" Steve mused with a large smile, waving the remote around and watching with clear amusement as Clint's gaze followed the remote like a cat to a red laser.

"You should have seen your face after you mentioned puppies and rainbows in the same sentence." Clint interjected as he wiggled his body, ready to pounce at Steve for the remote. When Steve had slowed down his movements enough for Clint to jump at him, the archer stubbornly held onto the remote even as Steve lifted it out of his reach- along with him. The archer glared up at Steve with the intensity of an angry kitten, the smirk still remaining on his features. The two held a staring contest for several moments, the neither of them letting go of the remote. It might have lasted longer if an uninvited guest decided to welcome themselves, their voice cutting through the light atmosphere with the sharpness of a recently grinded butcher's knife.

"What in the world are you two doing?" The demon tried to assess the situation, tilting his head as his tail swayed lazily behind him. He was holding a Starbucks, and a box of donuts. Steve and Clint slowly turned their heads in the demon's direction, before hastily scurrying away from each other. Steve handed Clint the remote, who glanced up at the taller blond before shoving the object in his pocket. The two stared in the incubus' direction, who growled disapprovingly at the attention.

"Forget what you are doing, why are you staring at me?" The brunet was completely oblivious to the fact he had slipped through Natasha's wards for a second time, not even wearing his amulet or any type of charms. Rather he was wearing a pair of slightly scuffed jeans, with rips at the knees, and a maroon shirt. Over the shirt was a jacket, and he was wearing a red baseball cap to top it off. Taking a sip of his coffee, he raised an eyebrow at the two offending humans who continued to stare.

"You do know staring is _rude_ , correct? At least, I believe it is in human customs." The demon glared at the two, before hopping up onto the island counter in the kitchenette, opening his box of donuts as he did so. He ate donut after donut in silence, occassionally sipping at his coffee. It was Clint who finally broke the silence, his gaze darting to the wall by the door where his bow was.

"Why are you here, _Barnes_?" The demon shrugged, his stomach growling in protest for more food. His stormy gaze traveled to the cabinets as he sniffed the air for anything he could just open and start eating. When his nose finally caught the scent of leftovers in the fridge, he hopped off the counter and sauntered over to the fridge, pulling it open and searching for the leftover fried chicken. After a few moments, he was seated at the island counter, already biting into one of the drumsticks.

"...'m hungry." _Barnes_ finally responded as Clint and Steve were settled back on the couch, the both of them watching him warily. Steve decided to take the opportunity to observe the incubus when he was somewhat comfortable, at least it seemed like he was. The demon had recently shaved, his jawline not obscured by scruff, and _goddamn_ was it a nice one. He had his hair into a ponytail, his bangs still falling over the sides of his face, yet it looked nice on him. He had taken his baseball cap off, which was on the counter less than a few inches away from him. It was then, with his not-so-subtle surveilance of the demon that he noticed something... _interesting_. He had horns, like a normal incubus, but the peculiar aspect about him was the _feline-like_ ears atop his head. He lacked the elfish ears most succubi and incubi had, and instead had twitching, fluffy ears that looked like it'd belong to a snow leopard. When Steve's gaze went south, he noticed that the demon's tail wasn't smooth or leathery like a succubus' or incubus' tail would be, but it was indeed a snow leopard's tail. A cat-like incubus... that would explain the cat-eyes. And the fangs. Steve squinted at the demon, who seemed to finally notice his gaze, and growled at him as he finished up the last of the fried chicken. Clint sat in his seat on the couch, fuming and pouting at the same time. The two had hoped the demon was done eating their food, but when he stood up, threw away the bones, then went back to scavenging the fridge, the two decided it was enough. Clint motioned Steve to the demon, but the two had a silent argument in sign language as to who would _escort_ the demon out. Steve ended up losing, sighing as he stood up. He approached the demon cautiously, who only regarded him with an impassive expression. This version of the demon was almost completely devoid of emotion, save for the disappointed look that painted his face.

Steve never thought he'd feel so betrayed by someone he didn't know- that look pulled all kinds strings in his heart, disappointment in himself washing over him. When he was standing only a few feet away, the demon slowly closed the fridge, body turned away from Steve. It's like it was a completely different person- _he_ was a completely different person. Steve regarded the demon's body language as discomfort being so close to him, so he took a few steps back. Unfortunately for Steve, it only made things worse. The demon before him visibly bristled, his tail fluffing up as his ears pressed flat against his hair. Steve tried to ignore as Clint silently slipped away from the couch to grab his bow, and the two were left alone for a few moments. Clint was most likely dipping his arrows in poison, so he'd do a decent amount of damage to the demon. As if. The room began to grow colder, and suddenly Steve wished he hadn't worn such a thin shirt. Those gray eyes swept over his body a few times, right before the demon recoiled from him. He'd _hurt_ the demon's feelings. Steve breathed out through his mouth slowly, a faint blush blooming on his face. He could feel the tips of his ears getting hot, and bet he looked like a cherry at this point. He looked away from the demon, taking another step back. It sent the incubus over the edge, as he grabbed onto Steve's wrist and pulled the two of them close together.

Steve knew Clint had his bowstring drawn taut, the arrow directed for the demon's heart. However there was a chance it could through the demon, and get lodged into Steve, too. Steve simply breathed in deeply to calm his nerves, and caught a whiff of vanilla-scented shampoo and conditioner. The demon pressed as close as he possibly could to Steve, nose buried in the crook of his neck. The little mewls that escaped him pointed in the direction that just that small amount of contact the demon was getting turned on, even with his life in danger. Steve was baffled at the restraint the incubus was showing, however, as the only touching he did was sniffing and holding onto Steve's wrist. His tail flicked behind him wildly, and all Steve could do was watch and hope no one moved in this dangerous, unstable situation. The demon was shuddering against his body, desperately aching for any more form of contact. He swiveled his vision upwards, meeting Steve's gaze. Steve could see the longing, the lust in those swirling orbs. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Steve waited for the demon to act, yet the incubus slowly forced himself away. He looked absolutely torn for making himself move away, and Steve could tell from the pained expression on the demon's face. He was curious, as to what a few words would do.

"You can touch me." Steve whispered to the demon softly, who's eyes lit up with surprise, and only a few seconds later Steve felt himself being enclosed in arms that felt as strong as his own, claws scratching at his back, soft, fluffy ears tickling his cheek. The demon moaned against his shoulder, quite loudly as he grinded against Steve's body. The blond's cheeks were positively burning at this point, and he was trying his damnest to ignore Clint, who was slowly lowering his bow and raising his eyebrows. Steve mouthed to him silently that he _couldn't explain_ any of it, which he couldn't. He didn't know what to do, so he remained frozen in the demon's arms. He could sense the uncertainity from the demon, who clearly wished the feelings were reciprocated, and watched as the demon slowly pulled away from him. The earlier glee and excitement he had was replaced by horror, self-loathing and once again, disappointment. The demon wanted Steve to remember something, _someone_ , when the memories weren't there. His ears pressed flat against his hair again, his tail not even swaying an inch.

"...'m sorry. I...I can't... I... miss.." The demon struggled to form words, his voice quiet, shaky. He breathed in slowly, shaking his head as he turned away. Steve was able to recognize the look on the demon's face- and it tore his heart to pieces all over again. When Clint was able to see the demon's expression as well, he furrowed his eyebrows together in concern. Demons did not show that amount of emotion- they didn't become attached to humans, unless they were Natasha. But here's another _demon_ , who's heart seems to be a thousand pieces. Tears threatened to overflow from his eyes, as he curled on in himself. He slid down to the floor, back pressed to the fridge. A choked noise escaped his throat, as his shoulders began shaking. He brought his knees up to his chest in an effort to make himself as small as possible, and the two humans could do nothing but watch. The demon cried against the fridge silently, the choking sound that escaped his throat before the only noise he had made. He sniffled a few times, his tail curling around a legs in a futile effort to offer some comfort to himself.

"Steve, the hell is he to you?" Clint placed his bow back in it's place on the wall, turning to Steve with a worried expression. The taller blond shrugged his shoulders, sighing deeply as he silently watched the demon's emotional breakdown.

"I... he's nothing to me, I don't even know him. But I seem to be... something to him." Steve tried to assure Clint the demon was nothing to him, but somewhere deep inside him he knew the demon _had_ been something to him. Yet his lies seemed to work- on Clint at least, and after he said the words the demon out a small cry, breaking down all over again. Steve and Clint both cringed at the sound and at the sight, neither of them knowing what to do. Clint appeared to be in a moment of contemplation for a few seconds, before he signed to Steve to _do something, it's about you_. Steve shrugged, closing his eyes, shaking his head and sighing. Slowly sitting down on the ground, he tentatively reached out to run his fingers through the demon's hair, the broken sounds coming from stopping immediately. Steve was almost glad he could get the demon to stop crying, but he felt guilty at the same time for causing it. Those soft black and white ears began to rise up again, attent at their surroundings.

Steve's heart hammered against his chest, causing him pain like it would have so many years ago. He felt anxiety creeping into his veins, every ounce of courage leaving his body. He felt vunerable trying to offer a _demon_ comfort, knowing he'd never be able to give the demon the security and love he'd been so blindly desiring.

"Hey... what's your name?" Steve resisted the urge to punch himself at his choice of words, instead coaxes the demon with a soft, gentle tone. He tried to ignore the way the demon leaned into his touch, as if the simple notion gave him ecstasy beyond any other wonder of the world could. His eyes were still screwed shut, yet he had lifted his head from his knees. His jeans were unmistakibly soaking wet from the onslaught of tears, the demon's cheeks red and puffy. He slowly opened his eyes, mouth pressed into a thin line. At a first glance, he would appear agitated, but his ears and his tail were giving him away. That tail instinctly tried to curl around Steve's wrist, the fur probably the softest thing he's ever felt.

"N...name...?" The demon turned to Steve, his eyebrows knitted together, mouth hanging slightly open. He hesitated to answer, yet felt like he should have anyways.

"James Barnes." He had a silvery tone, a Brooklyn accent, his voice missing the scratchiness it would always have when he talked. It was like the demon had become an entirely different entity- or perhaps he had another personality. Steve raised an eyebrow at the name, struggling to search his subconscious for answers about the name. It brought nothing but stress and a headache. But a heartache was more prominent than the throbbing of his brain.

"I'm pretty sure you know who I am." Steve mused quietly, still running his fingers through the demon's hair and brushing against his ears every so often. The demon regarded him in an offset manner, gaze never leaving his eyes.

"You're Steven Grant Rogers. I read about you in a museum. But I knew you before you were a national icon. I grew up with you. You were just the kid in Brooklyn who'd never back down from a fight. You had a lot of health issues, your life was threatened a lot, but me and your mom always fought to keep you alive." The demon recalled the memories with a shaky voice, the words like venom he had to force from his mouth. He didn't see the way Clint paled considerably, or the way Steve looked more baffled than he ever had been before.

"Then- I was drafted. And... I got captured. In the mean-time you went and signed up for a project to make a super-soldier." The demon's ears pressed against his skull once against, a low whine escaping his throat. The memories were clearly unpleasant, if his pained expression and tight voice were anything to go by. Steve stayed silent, listening intently. He didn't know his past, and when he had woken up in S.H.I.E.L.D. no one would tell him anything, he had no memories and was given a clean slate to live his life.

"They... did _things_ to me. They made me a half-breed, at first. Fuckin' forced an incubus into my body, beyond the boundaries of possession. Then I got away. I found out they turned _my_ Stevie into a weapon. Wh-when you found out I was dead, that little innocent kid who didn't want anyone to hurt became a _murderer_. You weren't going to stop until every single one of _them_ were dead." The demon raised his eyebrows, eyes vacant and void of any emotion. Yet as he spoke, he sounded surprised at the words coming out of his own mouth.

"We started up a team. Became the Howlin' Commandos. Then I fell off a train and supposedly died... _They_ got me back, forced an ice demon into the brewing disaster and an animal spirit, thus... _me_. Their weapon. The guy who made the super-soldier serum was assassinated." The demon screwed his eyes shut, trying to block out his own memories. All he could think of was the _torture_ they put him threw. Steve kept running his fingers through the demon's hair, rubbing behind his ears.

"When they were gonna nuke a few of th' major cities.. you drove th' plane into th' bloody fuckin' ocean. Frozen, for seventy years. Ya woke up in the twenty-first century, no memories. I've been chasin' ya ever since. Ever since I got away, I've looked all over the globe for you. I've been lookin' for where that plane crashed." The demon admitted as his voice began to crack, and that vacant expression morphed to pain once again.

"I'm tired of losin' ya, Stevie. I'm tired of being lost. I can't jus' roll over an' die. Don' work that way anymore. It's either bein' frozen or suffering and rememberin' all the things I've lost. I am _so_ tired of losin' everythin'." The demon was beginning to slur, his accent becoming thicker and his voiced distressed. He pressed his face into his knees again, not able to face _him_ again. He couldn't look at Steve anymore.

"I want to come home, Stevie. You're where my home is, but you don't remember me. I have no where to go. I could go back to _them_ and spend the rest of eternity as a lab rat, being tortured, and them tryin' to put my brain in the blender." He painfully choked out his confession, tail unwrapping from Steve's wrist. He didn't even register as Steve stopped petting his hair, rather looking at the demon with a form of horror and recognition. There was an immense burning sensation in his chest, extremely painful making Steve feel like he was a cripple. The bond that was beginning to form was already being torn apart, the demon's emotions to much to process through the weak link. The demon clearly already knew, beginning to recoil from Steve's touch. The faster it's broken, the less pain the two would have to suffer from. Steve's eyes were glazed over, _something_ playing in his mind. He bit into his bottom lip, furrowing his brows as he expressed the pain he felt in silence.

Then something clicked. Steve felt a glimmer of hope- there's a piece of his past right in front of him, someone who could put everything together. Clint was watching from the sidelines, staring at the two in silence, still shocked at everything Barnes had said. Steve didn't really care about his friend at that point- all those missing memories, that person S.H.I.E.L.D. had been expecting him to be- they could be put back together. He could be Steve Rogers again. A name formed at the tip of his tongue, anxiety like he'd never felt before preventing him from saying it. He yearned for the contact he'd been deprived of for seventy years, the answers he'd been searching for.

"Bucky?" Steve called the demon's name quietly, eyes glued to the demon. He tensed visibly, head slowly rising from his knees for the second time. There it was, that glimmer of _hope_ that they could put the puzzle back together. Bucky, Bucky, _Bucky, My Bucky,_ that same name repeated in Steve's head like a broken record. Bucky let another choked sob escape his throat, all of his attention on the center of his world he'd been chasing for far too long.

"Yes?" Bucky marveled at _his_ Stevie finally saying his name again, and that little key to his heart fit perfectly back into place. His ears perked up, tail swishing excitely behind him. He continued to admire Steve contemplate his next words, yet that look in his eyes said everything that needed to be said.

"I'm with you to the end of the line."

 **A/N**

 **Okay, so, I'm really enjoying this, I cried writing it at some points, and I plan to continue ASAP unlike my other fanfics. I love this fanfic and I have no idea why, but I am going to continue and I am going to continue crying in my corner because I did while writing all the sad parts. And aren't you glad the first chapter has a somewhat happy ending? You don't have to wait a thousand years for them to get together. We're going to go nice and slow, focus on Steve getting his memories, and maybe there will be more smut in the future. It's all up to your criticism.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N**

 **Hey there! Back with a new chapter on New Year's day. Crazy, right? Anyways, not much to say, only that I was laughing like maniac while writing the end. My mom was giving me strange looks. She's going to love this. I am going to love this. Please R &R.**

 **The "oOo" is placed in between transitions (flashbacks, change of times, zones, etc.) is to make the format easier to read and comprehend. I will be going back and adding this to the first chapter.**

"Steve, focus." Natasha's voice rang in his ears, as she was hovering over his form. Steve was sitting cross-legged in her office, sky-blue gaze directed at an emerald crystal that was in the palm of Natasha's right hand. She held it only a few inches away from him, her spiritual energy almost suffocating in the room. It was a heavy draining weight on his shoulders, yet his resolve was stronger than he would often think. The strange smell of her incense rushed up his nostrils, and Steve felt himself slipping into a black abyss. Her gaze pierced through the darkness that was filling his mind, an anchor he desperately clung to. The shadows gave away to something locked in his subconscious, the memory rippled to the surface painfully.

 **oOo**

 _This dream was a strange one. Steve couldn't find himself anywhere- and he couldn't control himself, either. He was himself, seeing through his own eyes. A brunette woman stood a few feet away from him, her bright red lipstick catching Steve's attention. He was wearing a military uniform, sitting at a bar with a glass gripped loosely in his hand._

 _"Did you believe in your friend? Did you respect him?" The woman's accented tone cut through the air, a dagger piercing Steve, ripping his heart to shreds._

 _"Then stop blaming yourself. Lap up some dignity of his choice, he damn well must have thought you were worth it." Her words were as suffocating as the atmosphere he had just come from, words dying in his throat. He struggled to remember this woman, who she was speaking of. Nothing but the distorted whispers from Natasha reached him, the memory becoming an unintelligble blur in a matter of seconds._

 **oOo**

Steve gasped as Natasha pulled him from his mindscape, holding his head back to allow air to flow into his lungs. Her fiery red locks cascaded over her shoulders, the brightly colored crystal that was in her hand now a dull, fading color. It was losing it's magical properties faster than Steve would like admit. He closed his eyes, his world spinning and making him feel sick.

"Hey, you doing okay there sailor?" Natasha mused, even though her discontent seeped into her tone. Steve just shook his head as he nodded, allowing the demoness to hold his head up.

"Not gonna pass out again, right? You're really heavy." Steve chuckled at her comment, shrugging again. He inhaled deeply, evening out his breathing, however his heart still hammered painfully against his chest. His ribs felt like they were going to cave from the pressure, yet Steve knew it was just his nerves. He was relieved to know the incense had been burnt up, but he didn't want to know how long that small little sliver of his past took in the present.

"H-how... how long?" Steve queried almost silently, his voice barely above a whisper. He watched as Natasha took a quick glance at her phone, before shoving it back into her pocket.

"Five minutes. I accelerated the incense' properties so it wouldn't take as long as before." Steve nodded, acting like he understood. They both knew he didn't, and let the silence consume them. Natasha had slid down onto the floor, inspecting Steve from a less painful angle. Sweat clung to his pale skin like he'd jus jumped out of the shower, and bags were beginning to form under his eyes. The discolored, purple skin looked sunken in, creating a slightly undead appearance. When Steve finally felt calm, he turned to her with a curious gaze.

"I remember something." He turned to her with a glimmer of hope shining in those dull-eyes of his, before he blinked very, very slowly. The exhaustion of speeding the memory-diving was taking it's toll on him, as he began to struggle sitting up. Natasha seemed to take notice, bringing her palm up to his pulse, forcing energy into his veins. Steve felt like he'd just decided to press his entire body to the stove, burning every crevice to charred pieces. When Natasha pulled her hand away, the sensation slowly began to fade away, being replaced a burst of energy Steve never thought he'd have again. He turned to her, seeing it didn't phase her a single bit to replenish his spiritual energy that was drained by their... _sessions_. She'd been helping him pick at the lock in the back of his mind that prevented him from knowing who he was, preventing him from understanding his old life, remembering it. They'd been doing it everyday after Steve returned from teaching at the academy, and it'd gone on for an entire week ever since Bucky had decided to just move in... with nothing but a collar. The demon had hidden it from his newfound housemates, yet had invited himself to rummage through everyone else's belongings. It added to the reasons Natasha disliked Barnes, but she kept her distance from unless it came to Steve. She made herself a wall between the two, even going as far to put a ward on Steve when Barnes refused to leave the blond alone. This was _her_ territory, _her_ humans, and she wasn't going to let a weak sex demon steal one of her prizes from her. Steve seemed to notice her glaring at the wall, simmering in rage that wasn't directed at him. When he placed a hand on her shoulder, she was pulled out of her trance.

"What did you remember?" Natasha resumed bringing her mind back to them, pushing her hatred to the furthest corners of her mind.

"A woman... she was... talking about something that was probably important. She had said 'He damn well must have thought you were worth it.'..." Steve furrowed his eyebrows together, scrunching up his nose. The words made no sense to him, yet to Natasha they made an entire world of sense.

"She must have been talking about when Barnes died." Natasha spoke in a flat tone, her eyes giving away that her mind was in a far-away place. It only lasted for a few seconds, before she turned to him with an oddly judging stare. Steve stopped himself from recoiling from her gaze, rather allowing her to pry at his mental barriers to see if he knew what she had meant. He had died, he mentioned that at one point, didn't he?

"You don't remember either of those times, I take it?" Steve shook his head at her question, recognizing that sliver of disappointment he'd come to detect in the two demons. They had poker-faces for the majority of the day, but there were times when they slipped up, their protective bubbles coming down for a few seconds. He wanted to take pride in noticing her subtle change, but her words stopped his train of thought.

"He... died more than once?" Steve raised his eyebrows, the words tasting strange in his mouth. Natasha snorted as she shook her head, looking up to the ceiling.

"First time he was captured and considered dead, second time he fell from a train in the mountains and I think the entire world wouldn't believe he'd survive from that, but he did. So yeah, declared KIA twice." Natasha corrected him, head tilted upwards slightly as she tried to hold Steve's gaze, to stare into his eyes. He looked confused at the motion, so she dropped the act and returned to acting like her usual cut-off self.

"That's... horrible." Steve gave himself a few moments to feel pity for the demon of the conversation, before a question began to scratch at his mind.

"How do you even know that information?" Steve questioned her in an accusing tone, which she raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow to.

"I'm old." If Natasha was feeling threatened, she wasn't showing it. Steve scowled at her, one end of his lips tilted upwards while the other was pulled down. He watched as her stone expression slowly changed, the way she pressed her lips into a thin line.

"For fuck's sake, Nat. I'm not gonna say anything." Steve continued to glare in Natasha's direction, and somewhere a little voice in his mind was reprimanding him for cursing.

"Language, Rogers." She mused quietly as a smirk found it's way onto her features, though the expression never truly met her eyes. They were too cold, she was still glaring at him through thick, long lashes.

"But seriously Nat, where did you even get that kind of information?" Steve observed her as she looked behind herself, checking to see the wards of her office had not been broken. When she was satisfied with knowing they were alone, she turned back to him.

"I'm a retired assassin. I had access to all kinds of information in a very large database. And the old part isn't a lie, either." She confessed with a straight face, flat tone as usual. However Steve knew the weight of those words, and now he had to keep a secret. He nodded at her slowly, his gaze flickering to the wood plank flooring beneath them for a few seconds before darting back up to her face.

 **oOo**

"Now then class, who would like to explain the main differences in female and male dragon instinctual natures?" Steve addressed the classroom full of academy students, his gaze sweeping over the crowd as quite a few students raised their hands to answer. He stopped the sweep at a particular student, pointing at him. The boy looked baffled to have been chosen to answer, and soon the room burst out into snickers about the nerd. Steve cleared his throat, glaring at the offending students.

"That is enough. Now then, Parker, would you care to elaborate?" The student nodded in Steve's direction, clearing his throat, a small, almost silent sound. None of the students except Wanda, Pietro, and Sam seemed to pay him attention, yet Peter knew he had the proffessor's attention. He stood up, making a wild movement with his hands as he rummaged his brain for the right words.

"Dragons are flexible sub-classes that mainly specialize in fire. Some can manipulate more than just fire, like create protective barriers or wards throughout their... uh... dens. Male dragons prefer to hoard things to feed their egos, and both genders are easy to offend. Dragons tend to be sophistcated demons that can easily hide among the upper echelon of humanity- however a very prominent different between the sexes can be used to easily identify a female. They will hoard _males_ , and can be inter-racial such as humans, sex-demons, fae, the list goes on. They prefer to live in safe areas, such as dens, being protected by others, however they are not completely helpless- they are more ruthless, dangerous, and stronger than the males. Their maternal instincts seem to blind others to their true strengths- which lies in protecting what _they_ claim as _theirs_. If a she-dragon wants to keep a few humans or other beings as _pets_ , they will do so, and be aggressive and territorial to other females, or males they do not want in their territory. While most actively seek mates, there are a few cases of female dragons that do not do this, and rather act more like a male. They do however, still retain the instinct to keep those of the opposite gender, even if it is not for breeding purposes." Peter finished with a shaky sigh, settling back down in his seat. Steve nodded at him, before turning to the chalkboard.

"What Parker says is correct, as studies over the course of hundreds of years have shown. Dangerous, territorial- manipulative, and _very_ intelligent. Do not underestimate the females of the draconic kind- females are more likely to have extra abilities than just breathing fire. They also have greater storages of spiritual energy, and can replenish a human's supply when they are on the brink of death having been drained by say... _a succubus_. That is why they can be essential allies, or your worst nightmare. For while they can give, they can take just as easily. Some of them can even skip your spiritual energy and attack your life-force directly, causing your blood to evaporate, your brain to shut down, your heart stop, and your skin instantly begin to rot. It is disgusting, and is something I hope only the worst of you encounter." A smirk crept onto Steve's face, as he enumerated on what Peter had previously said. Some of the ruder, more outspoken students looked shocked, and Steve simply flashed them a bright grin. He turned to the chalkboard, quickly writing some inscriptions from the textbooks, having already memorized the chapters for the week. Some of the lazier students let out exasperated sighs and groans, clearly not wanting to have to _memorize_ all of which was set before them. It was nothing but fuss and complaints, yet Steve managed to drag the class through the session without anyone screaming out in frustration, as every topic was explained carefully, yet not _too_ carefully to make them accuse him of treating them like morons. It was simplified, not drawn-out, and he held up to reputation of sass and occassional flirting.

 **oOo**

Bucky had wandered into Steve's bedroom, surprised the blond would have left the door unlocked. Stepping into the room as quietly as he could, Bucky looked around to take in the surroundings. He needed something, _anything_ to understand Steve better. He couldn't keep expecting _this_ version of him to be the same as the one in the past, and a picture on the dresser in the right corner caught his eye. It was framed in copper, a small photo that could fit into his hand. Bucky's tail flicked in irritation as he recognized one of the people in the photo- _Natasha_ , but there was Clint, _Steve_ , and two others. Steve _clearly_ had friends, and something dragged Bucky spiraling down into a dark abyss within his own mind when he realized he wasn't one of those friends. Shaking his head, he turned to the desk that was right in front of the window, which had transparent amber curtains that filtered in sunlight, bathing the desk in a golden glow. Approaching the desk, Bucky ran his fingers along the smooth surface. It was made from mahogany, with three drawers on each side, and one in the middle. Contemplating on further breaking Steve's privacy, the demon huffed as he pulled one of the drawers open, the top left. He felt a choked noise just linger there in his throat as Steve's sketchbook was the first thing visible in the drawer. His gaze lingered on it too long for even his own liking, yet he couldn't. Bucky felt frozen, his attention captured by a simple old sketchbook. Sighing as he reached into the drawer to pick up the book, he ignored how the room continued the grow colder. Ice formed on his fingertips, yet never spread to the sketchbook. He held it up in the light, swallowing his anxiety down as he flipped to the first page. The breath Bucky didn't he was holding was finally released as a _familiar_ drawing was what he was met with. It was Steve's sketchbook he had during the war- the one he _gave_ to _Peggy_. Seeing it again made warning signals go through Bucky's mind, as it meant only one thing. Steve crashed a plane into _ice_ , didn't he? If he was awake, unaged, and didn't remember anything from his life before only to have something from his _past_ , it meant S.H.I.E.L.D. had been the ones to find him, the ones to thaw him out. The demon grimaced from the thought, closing the sketchbook before shoving it back into the drawer. _S.H.I.E.L.D._ was involved- it could also mean they were the ones to put Steve with Natasha and Clint, who were both _assassins_ , as they'd both come after Bucky times before. It seems the three of them were keeping that from the blond, secrets he didn't need to know until he began to remember things. Shaking his head, Bucky spun on his heel to look around the room again. A King-sized bed placed more on the left side of the room, with an end table pressed into the corner. A lamp was placed ontop of it, nothing else. It was as Steve had recently moved in, with nothing but posters of information on demons. He had a bookshelf by the door, filled with textbooks that were part of the academy's curriculum. Steve _is_ a proffessor, after all. It's clear they're something he reads often, the spines of the books beginning to show wear, some slightly cuffed, others deeply creased. His gaze returned to the bed, with it's light blue sheets, rich mahogany framework, a _lot_ of pillows, and somewhere between the mess of pillows was a stuffed animal. It looked like a raccoon. Furrowing his eyebrows as he approached the comfortable-looking mess, Bucky slowly eased himself down onto the edge of the bed. He patted the bed, feeling the silky, smooth fabric of the bedsheets with his fingertips.

 **oOo**

Closing his eyes, he imagined Steve there with him, all over his body like he had been once before. The way his eyes would burn with a fiery heat, lighting up like little gems. He could feel the ghost imagines of Steve's fingers caressing his form, nails digging into his back. Slightly swollen and bruised lips capturing his own, had the demon moaning for the attention even if there was no one to give him any. With a huff he collapsed back onto the bed, stretching out as he kicked off his boots. He's suddenly regretting wearing skinny jeans, unwanted arousal sweeping over him as he inhaled more of Steve's scent. It was the blond's bed, afterall. He _does_ sleep here. The lingering scent was like drugs to the demon, his limbs beginning to feel numb the longer he laid there. Staring at the ceiling through half-lidded eyes, Bucky tried to move. His held felt the heaviest, and while his limbs felt like nothing, he could barely move at all. A simple twitch of his fingers was all he could muster, and the demon soon realized what was _wrong_ with him. The realization drew a string of curses from the demon's mouth, just as he felt his body temperature rise, pheromones rolling off his body. He hadn't fed off any sexual energies for an entire week. While he usually had multiple partners every night to exhaust, he'd been too _busy_ with _Steve_ , trying to get the blond to remember him and wedge his way into the human's life. With Natasha's new, improved, and _specialized_ wards, Bucky was unable to access Steve's mind when he was asleep. He couldn't influence the blond's dreams with memories of their past, or _use_ the blond as a food source. It was frustrating, and currently, quite dangerous. He felt weak, desperate, _exposed_. If it weren't for Natasha's wards, any curious, lonely humans or horny demons would most likely be fucking him into oblivion with little disregard for who he was. All they wanted was _what_ he was. It was a struggle to get the muscles in his face even to simply just grimace with disgust. There was a price one had to pay for altering their nature, becoming a completely different being. He wish he hadn't paid that price. He knew it wasn't his fault, he knew he didn't ask for it. Bucky didn't hate himself any less. He could feel that near-faded, torn bond pulsing with _want_. Shamelessly calling Steve for help, though he knew the human wouldn't be able to feel or understand the broken transmissions. Swallowing the whine that tried to work it's way up his throat, Bucky closed his eyes and simply waited, as the clock somewhere in the room continued to tick irritably. Seconds passed so _painfully_ slow, every minute adding to his agony. His chest heaved with every breath, the air stinging his lungs. He opened his eyes to glare at the ceiling, a growl escaping his throat as he snarled at his own problems. He also hadn't known it was possible for an incubus to be so _wet_. It was quite _interesting_ , he could have sworn _males_ don't have this kind of thing for the norm. Incubi, on the other hand... Every minute passed brought him more pain, as his body tried to clench around nothing. He'd wished he'd fallen unconscious for this, but stubbornly, he couldn't fall asleep. He wouldn't have been able to access anyone else's dreams either, as while Natasha's wards prevented him from accessing minds _within_ the house, it also prevented him from accessing _outside_ the house. He was trapped, more or less. He was wishing he could wriggle out of his jeans, only for the friction to cause a moan escape his lips.

 **oOo**

Steve wasn't expecting the first thing for him to hear entering the house was a muffled moan coming from _his_ room, and he also wasn't expecting how a certain energy weighed down his shoulders. It made his skin crawl, a flush creep to his cheeks and blood rushing to _somewhere else_. It took him the matter of a few seconds for his mind to process eveything- the _scent_ in the air, the pull at his subconscious that tried to move his body in the direction of his room. Dropping his bag of books on the floor, Steve stalked over to his room, footsteps as light as he could manage. The closer to the door he was, the stronger the pull. Snapping his subconscious from it's twisted hold, Steve stared at the door as he began to slowly break from his trance. Glaring at the offending entrance as he twisted the knob, entering was an even larger test on his self-restraint. The sight he was met with was certainly _interesting_. Bucky was sprawled out on his bed, barely moving. Legs dangling off the edge of the bed, hips oriented upwards. There was sweat clinging to the demon, and his chest looked like it heaved painfully with every breath he took. He approached him silently, however knew Bucky looked over to him. The demon's ears which had been previously flattened against his skull perked upwards, yet that was the only movement the demon made. His gray eyes followed Steve's every moven, as he glided across the floor with light, flowing steps. The blond quickly regarded Bucky's form, and made a noise of confusion in the back of his throat. Steve's hands made motions in the air, likely prompting Bucky to _explain_.

"B-biology." He shared the shortest, simplest answer he had in a hoarse, clearly strained voice. Steve grimaced at the demon's discomfort, contemplating for a few seconds as the impassive expression returned to his face. The blond's sky-blue orbs seemed to glimmer with _mischief_ and _amusement_ , and Bucky tried to focus all of his attention he possibly could on him.

"Do you want me to..." Steve began in a low, husky tone, with underlying tones of his amusement at the demon's situation. "Help you?" The playfullness of Steve's tone dissapated, replaced by geninue _concern_ for the demon. Bucky could have sworn his heart skipped several beats at that revelation. He held Steve's gaze with his own blurry, unfocused gaze. He swallowed down those little _lies_ in the back of his throat, all of those unproffessional, desperate pleas.

"N-no. I... I don't." He forced the words out, in a small and shaky voice. Steve kept his glare of disbelief, a hum the only response the blond gave. After a few more seconds of silence, Steve climbed over the bed, falling onto the demon's body, legs pressing into his hips. He let his weight fall confidently in place, still holding the demon's gaze.

"You don't want to admit you need help, yet you know you need it. Don't _lie_ to _me_ Bucky." Steve placed his hand's on the demon's chest as he leaned forwards, hovering over him. Bucky saw how Steve's gaze had flickered to his lips, then back up again.

"You need _me_." Steve whispered out the words so softly, Bucky was glad he had inhuman hearing to pick up the words from the blond's lips. Steve's body against him felt like touching flames, the heat pouring off him only adding to the demon's discomfort, that flickering little flame of arousal that was buried underneath his agony. A low growl rumbled deep in his chest as his own instincts betrayed his logic.

"Yes." The reply was low, laced with lust. Steve nodded, a fire lighting in his eyes as he did so. Energy hummed at his fingertips, leaving a tingling feeling as Steve's hands slid underneath Bucky's sweater, traveling across the demon's chiseled chest. Steve was slowly weaving energy into Bucky's flesh, and after a minute of caressing the brunet was able to move. He sat up as quick as he could, pressing his chest against Steve's. He could feel the blond's rippling, tensing muscles under the man's suit jacket. The lingering smell of the cologne on his skin, the sweat dripping from his brow. Steve's hands traveled to the demon's hips, before lifting him onto his own. Bucky sighed deeply as those strong arms encased him, _content_ that Steve wasn't uncomfortable with him.

"You _know_ , from the studies I teach, a succubi or an incubi get more _energy_... by... being made _love_ to, rather than just unemotional sex." Steve let out the small remark with his lips pressed to Bucky's jaw, his lips sliding across the curve as the words were hummed against the flesh. Bucky let out a little gasp, eyes caught on something on the other side of the room. Steve nipped at his throat, the demon's attention returning to him.

"I don't remember anything, but I do _feel_ something." The blond murmured the words as his lips glided to the demon's collarbone, and for once Bucky could _feel_ the honesty through their small, dwindling bond. Buring his nose in Steve's hair, he let his body absently coax Steve for more confessions.

"Like what?" He purred the word's into Steve's hair, his eyes shutting as his did so. He could pick out and name every scent lingering on Steve, from dozens of humans to even a few _demons_. Yet underneath all that masking, there was that little beacon of light that shone through all of the darkness. Steve's scent was all Bucky was interested in, along with the feeling of the blond pressed against him. Steve stiffened only slightly, before melting as Bucky began to rub circles on his back.

"I... it _hurts_ , when... I see these _looks_ on your face. When you look at me through those adoring, longing, _pained_ eyes of yours. When you have that look of disappointment on your face, I feel like I've failed." The pain in Steve's voice was clearly evident, and Bucky could him hear make a small sound of discontent. The words rung in the demon's head, and in a matter of seconds he tilted Steve's head up to pepper his face in butterfly-kisses.

"No, no, no, no. No, Steve, that's.. no, that's not it." Bucky tried his best to reassure Steve, knowing the effort was futile. He tangled his fingers in the blond's short hair, running through the locks in a soothing manner. Steve looked up to him, those blue orbs shining with the _horrors_ they had seen. Tears were threatening to spill, and Bucky shook his head at the blond. Wiping away his tears, Bucky whispered something in another language that Steve didn't understand.

"I'm not disappointed in you. I'm disappointed in myself. I haven't been able to accept who you've become, who you were, and who you are _now_. I hadn't gotten used to you a long time ago, and I hadn't now. The little innocent artist Stevie going out to war? I wasn't used to that. Then I lost him. He became... someone else. An icon. I didn't know that icon. I didn't know the war-torn Steve Rogers. I knew him before- and I want to know him, _you_ , who you are _now_." Bucky watched the subtle changes in Steve's expression, which finally relaxed into understanding. He inhaled deeply, laying his head against Bucky's chest. He could hear the slow thumping of the demon's heart, which sounded so eeriely _human_. Bucky's tone had been so sincere, Steve didn't know how to reply. The demon wanted to get to know _him_ , and not hold onto the person from before. Something had happened, Steve had _changed_ in the past, and Bucky hadn't accepted that. Yet here he was, trying to understand the person who's arms he was in.

"Thanks." Steve choked out the word, hiding his face in the demon's jacket in an effort to hide his blush. It was probably the nicest thing someone had said since he'd been woken from the ice. Getting to know _him_ , not pushing who he was _before_ and trying to shape a different person. A level of adoration for the demon he didn't think possible bloomed in his chest, becoming a bubbly feeling that he craved more of. He leaned back slightly, finding some amount of courage to peel the demon's jacket off, discarding the item of clothing to the floor. Bucky tilted his head upwards slightly, looking down upon Steve through glowing eyes. The blond knew that newfound intensity, heat in the demon's eyes was for _him_ , not the person he was before. Bucky's sweater disappeared in a glimmer, and somehow rematerialized ontop of his jacket in the far corner of the room. In the blink of an eye, Steve's hands were all over the demon. Caressing, tracing, every dip and curve of the demon's torso. Bucky relished in the attention, a content sigh leaving his lips. Energy was still seeping into him with every touch from the blond, slowly reinvigorating him. Steve slowly moved them further onto the bed, until Bucky found pillows underneath his head. Steve crawled up onto the demon, his chin resting on the demon's collarbone. His bright blue gaze was locked onto the demon's lips, watching the way he absentmindedly dragged his tongue along them to wet them. Bucky noticed Steve's gaze, yet remained still to see what the blond would do. Steve crossed the distance between them, pushing himself by his elbows to connect his lips with the demon's. Bucky's reaction was slow at first, hands coming up to cup Steve's cheeks, slowly pressing his lips to the blond's. Steve's gaze gained a certain _intensity_ , a fire lighting in those blue orbs. When Steve pulled away with curiousity of the demon's reaction, he was met with surprise, before it seemed to melt away into adoration.

"Gods, I love you." Bucky muttered the words, mind-to-mouth filter ceasing to work. Steve felt his heart skip a few beats, while a warm, fuzzy feeling seemed to spread from his chest. He knew that somewhere, in some point in time, he could say the same to demon. Yet it was _now_ , that something made him _want_ to remember. He wanted to remember those words he'd been hearing at the back of his mind, the ones he whispered when he placed his lips upon the demon's once again. Steve's kiss melted from innocence to a fiery passion, tongue gliding across Bucky's lips. The demon only complied with no resistance, moaning into the kiss. His fingers ran through the blond's hair as his hips rolled on their own to create any form of friction. Steve's hands had traveled down his body, tracing his abs until he stopped at the hem of the demon's jeans. His thumb ran along the belt, feeling the leather with his fingertips. Steve glanced upwards, asking Bucky for _permission_. _Gods_ , if only Steve looked at him like that everyday. He couldn't even form words, only managing a purr to rumble deep in his chest. Steve was leaving kisses along Bucky's collarbone, biting and sucking on the flesh until a bruise formed. As he did so, he was unbuckling the belt, pulling it from the demon's jeans and tossing it to some distant corner of his room. Steve stared at Bucky's boxers far too long for comfort, _shocked_ the demon actually wore undergarments. He could hear the brunet's chuckling, cutting through the distraction he was kept by. Glancing back upwards, Steve glared at the demon. Bucky gave him a wide grin, raising his hips slightly. He still had his jeans on, along with those bright _pink_ boxers, something that'd usually be _odd_ , but entertaining.

"We're goin' at yer pace, yeah? Take 'em off when ya want to." Steve bit onto his bottom lip at the demon's words, watching as that snow-colored tail thumped on the bed, _thrashing_ more being the appropriate word. He could practically _feel_ the impatience rolling off the demon, who was _clearly_ trying to take things slow for him. It felt rude to keep Bucky waiting any longer, considering the energy was slowly deteriorating and Steve _knew_ he was without a doubt suffering. Shrugging at his own thoughts, Steve pulled Bucky's jeans down without much effort, the fabric feeling too scratchy at his fingertips. Tossing the clothing item behind him, he inhaled as deeply as he could as his hand lingered at the hem of Bucky's boxers. _Gods_ , he knew he was hesitating. Rather than removing the demon's boxers, he started to shrug his own clothes off. He tossed article of clothing after article of clothing, until he was in nothing but his briefs. _Yes_ , he was wearing something shorter than a _sex-demon_ was. Bucky's eyes were glued to him, watching his every movement with unnatural precision. His tail had stopped thrashing against the bed, his ears were attent, listening to Steve, _anything_ he could pick up on. He'd gone completely still, watching the blond with curiosity.

"My pace? Can't go there, 'cause you're gonna be in more pain if I do that. You'd... no _energy_ , something along those lines..." Steve muttered as quietly as he could, shaking his head as he did so. He had the misfortune of watching as shame replaced the demon's frustration and impatience, his shoulders sagging as his head hit the pillows.

"Fuck, sorry." Bucky breathed out the words, closing his eyes as his face settled in a scowl. His tail curled around his waist, ears flattening against his skull. Steve shook his head again as he pried the demon's tail away from himself, the soft appendage curling around his wrist.

"Don't be sorry." Steve insisted softly, pressing his lips to the demon's tail. Bucky willed himself to relax at the blond's touch and his words, yet still eyed him warily. Steve sighed in relief when the demon's tail hid out of sight and his posture relaxed, accepting the blond's words.

"Okay. I won't be sorry. But that doesn't mean I won't stop blaming myself." Steve furrowed his eyebrows at the demon's sarcastic, _tired_ tone. With a low huff, Steve peeled the demon's boxers from his hips, almost amazed at how easily the fabric came off the demon's body. Bucky's glowing gaze snapped to him, expression blank yet eyes betraying him. Those glowing orbs portrayed everything Steve needed to know.

"Shut up." Steve interjected him, trying to keep a straight face as he did so. Bucky's tail was waving through the air, slow, fluid movements. Like a tree dancing in the breeze. The brunet's silvery, glowing gaze was addressing Steve, in a subtle, yet interrogative way. It was an intrusive, observative gaze. It worked wonders on the blond, who shed his briefs and threw them onto the floor, moving inbetween the demon's thighs. The wetness was actually quite _surprising_.

"H-how are you even-" He began in a meek voice, trying to _not_ look down at the demon. Rather Steve redirected his gaze to the ceiling, ignoring how Bucky pulled him closer and held him against him with his legs.

"I'm a sex-demon, I'm _meant_ for it. Just... think of it.. not needing lube?" Bucky shrugged while squinting at Steve, choking out the explanation in a tight voice. Steve tried to shrug the words and the feeling off, slowly taking in the demon's appearance. _Gods_ , that gaze made his skin crawl. The demon's eyes were darkened with lust, and pained with the _restraint_ he was forcing himself to uphold. Yet they still had that silvery shine, adoration and some level of gratefulness. Steve tried to push away the lingering image of the way the demon bit his bottom lip, fangs poking out of his mouth.

"Y-yeah, right. Okay, um.. I have no idea what to do." Finally reaching the demon's stare with a curious, perhaps _innocent_ gaze, Steve admitted quite bluntly, in a shy tone at his own inexperience. Almost expecting the demon to laugh at him, Steve found himself surprised when all Bucky did was tilt his head backwards slightly, eyebrows raised and lips parting to form a small 'oh'. The idea of mockery was pushed down in Steve's mind when Bucky pushed himself forward to press a kiss to his lips. Then he left kisses all along the blond's jaw, slowly moving down. He traced his fangs along Steve's pulse, his lips lingering there. His breath tickled the blond, yet he stayed completely still under the demon's touch.

"Then let me teach you." Bucky whispered the words, lips still pressed to Steve's throat. Hands traveling upwards to grip the blond's shoulders, he swiveled onto Steve's lap, a smirk on his face as he pushed back slightly to see the look on the blond's face. Steve's look of surprise made his smirk turn into a fanged-grin. He could see the heat blooming in the blond's cheeks, pale skin turning a bright pink.

"First lesson... keep yer hands movin'. Don't just leave 'em there. Run 'em along the spine, tangle through the hair, massage the hips..." Bucky purred the words against Steve's chest, demonstrating with his own hands. He left his hands at the blond's waist, waiting for the other to respond. Steve dragged his hands up the demon's thighs, settling at his hips for a few seconds before traveling upwards again. He traced the muscles on the demon's chest, every dip, every curve. Bucky shuddered under the touch, lifting his head up to place a kiss to Steve's lips. The blond reciprocated the gesture after a few seconds, watching in silence as the demon's eyes seemed to light up. The innocence quickly melted, the demon swiping his tongue along the blond's lips, who only complied much too eagerly. Steve pushed down on the bed, looming over his form while their lips were still connected. The demon's fangs punctured his lips, blood mixing with saliva as neither of them relented. Steve could feel Bucky's claws dragging down his back, drawing blood. He kept his hands planted firmly on the demon's hips, fingers digging into the flesh leaving bruises that would disappear within a few minutes. When Bucky felt satisfied from bruising and biting Steve's lips, he pulled away by a few inches. He rolled his hips against the blond, earning a shudder from the other. Bucky threw his head back, hair sprawling out on the pillows. He kept a heated, yet even gaze on Steve, who was letting his curious gaze slowly wander south. His eyebrows rose as his hands traveled down to the demon's thighs, breathing uneven as he tried to collect himself. Bucky placed his hands on Steve's shoulders, catching the blond's attention. He took the distraction as an opportunity to wrap his legs around the blond's waist, pulling them closer together.

"I can take it from here, if you want. Or you can figure things out, it's simple from here." While his expression portrayed his impatience and annoyance at the topic, Bucky spoke softly, yet in a flat tone. Steve shook his head, grabbing the demon's hips roughly and with a single motion slammed into him. Bucky made a noise that was somewhere between a growl and moan, quite _loudly_. His claws dug into Steve's shoulders, blood droplets rolling down his skin. His eyes rolled to the back of his head for a few seconds, before he focused his glare on Steve. Steve flashed him a wide grin.

"Can you give a _warning_ next time?" Bucky snapped at him in an aggravated tone, with an annoyed expression. Steve kept the oblivious, wide smile, and had the honors of watching the demon's lips begin to tug upwards in a smirk.

"Nah, the element of surprise is fun." Steve mused with that grin still lingering on his lips, some degree of pride flooding his veins at the demon's pout. Bucky bared his fangs in a grin mirroring Steve's own, causing the blond's expression to fall. Those gray eyes portrayed many things, and the smugness painfully apparent with the way he smiled. Without much thinking, the brunet rolled his hips, moving the two of them together in a not so subtle motion. Steve shook his head, curling his lips as he glared at the demon. Bucky kept his gaze locked with Steve's, gray clashing with sky-blue. Steve blinked slowly, orbs flickering down to the demon's chest for a few seconds. He noticed how the flesh on his collarbone adopted a bruise, which looked awfully similiar to a demonic rune. Bucky growled lowly, too lowly for Steve to notice, and rolled his hips again. Finally getting the message, Steve inhaled deeply as he copied the demon's motion. He could hear the purrs rumbling deep in Bucky's chest as he pulled out _too_ slowly, only to slam back into him. The purrs cut off into a loud moan, and Steve wasn't sure if Bucky was in pain or euphoria.

"L-lesson- t-two... t- f-f... _fuck_ , just.. just keep.. keep doin' that." Bucky could barely choke out the words as he tried to meet Steve's movements, the both of them finding a rhythm after a few moments. Steve slid in and out of him easy enough, yet he had growing concerns for the mark on Bucky's chest. The bruise was beginning to look more like an actual _wound_ , the skin inflamed with irritation. With another snap of his hips and a different angle, Steve's eyes widened as he watched the skin tear open, the mark now a bloody rune on Bucky's chest. While the demon was seeing stars and panting, unaware of Steve's dismay. He pulled the blond close to him, sinking his fangs into Steve's shoulder as the two continued to move in sync with each other. Steve had moved Bucky's legs further up, now wrapped around his waist. He angled himself to repeatedly hit the demon's bundle of nerves that had him a moaning, biting mess. After effectively scarring Steve's shoulder even if it'd only last a few minutes, Bucky purred in appreciation of the attention the blond was giving him. Steve's pace hadn't slowed down at all, and if anything, was becoming faster.

Their chests slid against one another, puzzle pieces set perfectly in place. Sweat clung to their skin, tension building between the two in the most delightful of ways. Heat pooled between the demon's thighs, a tightly wound coil threatening to snap. Blood dripped down his chest, the ruby droplets smeared by their friction. Steve's grips on his hips were quite painful, evidently one of the demon's turn ons. Bucky lost himself to the feeling, barely holding onto Steve. He briefly registed the absence of one of the hands on his hips, until he felt a hand wrapping around him, a whine escaping his throat. Steve's touch was unnaturally gentle compared to what else he was doing, twisting, stroking, and squeezing at some points. It was slowly pulling Bucky over the edge, yet still wasn't enough. He tangled his fingers in Steve's hair, pulling the blond down to kiss him. Steve seemed quite experienced at multi-tasking, seas of blue never leaving those ocean storms.

The demon felt too familiar to Steve. He felt like what his definition of home would be, someone warm, comfortable to be pressed against, and someone he had undying devotion for. Where the emotions had come from, he couldn't place. _Maybe_ , just _maybe_ , Bucky wasn't lying when he said he'd been a part of Steve's past. An important part, a puzzle piece that might clear up the picture. Perhaps the demon had been the piece Steve had been missing, one that would bring him all the answers he'd been chasing with futile effort. All he'd been able to uncover was the hero, _Captain America_. Name _Steven Grant Rogers_. Steve refused to believe he was that man, pushed it to the back of his mind and chose to reach for knowledge instead. With an excellent long-term and short-term memory, he was able to get his PhD in demonology easily, and became a proffessor. He'd had so many sleepless nights with nightmares he couldn't remember in the morning plaguing his subconscious, something, _someone_ was always there to place those thoughts in his head. Images of war, death, and in the end, _losing_ someone _important_ to him.

When Bucky was finally sent over the edge of escasty, their _bond_ had finally formed as Steve's energy was quickly sapped from his body, energizing the demon instead. The paleness in the demon's skin disappeared, the tan slowly returning. He was still flushed pink, sweat clinging to him, yet looked healthier. The bags under his eyes were beginning to fade, and those unfocused eyes began to glow with intensity Steve couldn't place his finger on reason for. Bucky muttered something under his breath in a soft voice, yet loud enough Steve knew what he had been saying. He was casting a _sleeping spell_. The last thing he saw before collapsing into the demon's arms were those captivating stormy gray eyes. Steve drew his last breath of consciousness with the demon echoing in his mind, memories appearing the moment he shut his eyes.

 **oOo**

 _"Steve, I.. I don't know what's happening to me. I'm becoming some.. some kind of monster." Dry, cracked, bruised lips choked out the words in a self-deluded tone. Gray eyes glazed over with the horrors the man had seen, he was only pulled out of his trance as he looked up to Steve._

 _Short brown hair, gray eyes, tanned skin, a light, yet slightly muscular build. A scratchy, yet bewitching voice. Those eyes were Steve's anchor amongst the mess of war. The thought of returning to those arms after everything was over was all that kept him sane. That he would come back home to Steve. He didn't at first._

 _"A... a name, please, Sergeant James Barnes- the 107th..." Steve spoke as softly as he could, trying to keep the panic from his voice. Thunder boomed in the distance, rain poured down from the heavens, his stage uniform completely soaked. He was wearing a coat ontop of it, concealing the brightly colored, embarrassing spandex. The man sorting the documents completely ignored him, while Steve shook his head. He couldn't breathe, he felt like he was suffocating. So it'd been true, then. The 107th had either been completely wiped out or captured. Most members of the unit were KIA. His Bucky was among those members._

 _"Sergeant James Barnes, 107th. Shipping out to England first thing tomorrow." Bucky clicked the heels of his boots together, straightening his posture. He looked uncertain, nervous for a few seconds, before his gaze lit up as he looked up to Steve. A smug grin found it's way onto his features as continued being everything Steve wanted in life- the person he always wanted, but could never have. Steve didn't want to watch him go, ever. He wanted Bucky to never leave his side- and now he was being drafted. He'd have to let him go._

 _"Ready to follow 'Captain America' into the jaws of death?" Steve turned to his companion, who took a swig of his scotch. The ice cubes danced in the glass, melting in the honey-colored liquor. Dulled gray eyes met Steve's excited, childish gaze._

 _"Hell no. That little guy from Brooklyn who never backed down from a fight? I'm following him." Bucky retorted with a grin that didn't truly meet his eyes- all that were reflected in them were pain. His body ached, his mind swarmed itself with unwanted and unnessecary thoughts. His voice remained as enticing as ever, pulling Steve into a void he shouldn't have delved into._

 _"He damn well must have thought you were worth it."_

 _"You..."_

 _"worth..."_

 _"it."_

 _"You're everything to me."_

 **oOo**

Steve's eyes snapped open, his blurred, unfocused vision met with imagery of his ceiling. He was on his bed, fully dressed. Natasha was by his side, sitting on the edge of his bed and pressing a cloth to his chest. Everything ached, burned. He felt slow and heavy with fatigue. His collarbone felt like it was on fire, a deep, emotional and physical pain coming to his senses causing him to inhale sharply. Natasha feigned ignorance to the subtle changes in Steve's expression, wiping the blood off his chest with a piece of cloth. It had the horrid, repulsive stench of the herbs she'd sometimes use on him to recover his strength. As she moved away with her blank, impassive expression set on her face, Steve was able to see Bucky standing in the corner of the room, by the bookshelf. His eyes were wide, pupils blown as he stared at Steve in a way that unnerved the blond. Bucky's arms were crossed over his chest, tail swaying behind him in a manner that portrayed his aggravation. Steve's last moments of conscioussness tugged at the corners of his mind, of when the demon had cast a _sleeping spell_ on him.

Then the realization was daunting, it was a sight in Steve's mind that worked wonders. He felt awestruck, amazed as he remembered the bits and pieces of his dreams- his _memories_. He may have been squinting at Bucky as he grimaced in pain, but internally Steve felt beyond words. The emotions flowing through him glided effortlessly over their bond, reaching the demon. His tail stopped it's irritable thrashing, his eyebrows raised as his scowl became nothing more than the slight downwards tug of his lips. Bucky's thousand-yard stare was reeled in, the demon coming to reality as his eyes met Steve's. Natasha had shuffled out of the room, closing the door behind her. It felt like a hundred years of silence between the two, when only a few minutes had passed. Steve smiled brightly at the demon, who looked completely baffled. Bucky might as well have been _recoiling_ from Steve. He was disgustingly intrigued by Steve, wanting to know why the blond was in such high spirits.

"I know you. I remember you. You're... you're... James Buchanan Barnes. I know you.. _gods_ I know you." Steve felt breathless as his confession finally left his lips, watching as Bucky's posture and expression changed quite drastically. He tilted his head back a small amount, looking down at the blond. Those stormy eyes lit up with an intensity Steve could finally place a name upon. There was _hope_ gleaming in the demon's gaze. He squared his shoulders for a few seconds, before the tension dropped and his entire body slugged as elation replaced his curious expression. Steve had never seen a demon look so... _happy_. Bucky sauntered out of the corner, stopping at the edge of Steve's bed. He sat down without a second thought, eyes still glued to the blond. He waved his hand through the air, prompting Steve to continue.

"Anything else? _Please_ tell me you remember more than my name." The two of them tried to ignore how desperate Bucky sounded, the longing emotion choking the life out of his voice. He spoke quietly, almost too quietly to hear. Steve made a mental note to thank whatever gods there were later for his excellent hearing.

"I remember being at this camp asking for a name. In the list of MIA and KIA soldiers. There were rumors about the 107th either being wiped out or captured. And then... there was... a bar? I'm not sure what it was- but... you were there, you just looked younger, had shorter hair, and less scruff. Said ya were followin' the kid from Brooklyn who wouldn't back away from a fight. Then... there... there... _gods_ , the times seem all mixed up. There was this other version of you that looked like absolute _shit_. Your hair was all oily 'n all, you had some serious baggage issues underneath your eyes, and had a bit more stubble than before. You had bruises on your mouth, your lips looked dry and cracked. And the look in your eyes... you were like a walking corpse. Said you were becoming a monster." Steve's tone of voice had gradually changed from confidence to something akin to being greatly disturbed by his memories, only further accompanied by the blank expression Bucky gave him after he revealed all of this. Steve had this fear that took a needle to his heart and stitched in words he didn't want to acknowledge.

"I was becoming a monster. I did become one." That distant gaze Steve had seen in his memories was the look in Bucky's eyes, he was somewhere else in his mind. The demon had a neutral expression, a flat tone. He was clearly disinterested in that topic, bringing only questions Steve knew he couldn't press the demon to answer. Steve didn't know how long Bucky's trance had lasted, though luckily it seemed to be only a few moments before he had interest in Steve again. The way Bucky did that felt so unnerving to Steve, too unnatural. The demon's ears twitched atop his head, most likely trying to listen to the blond's heartbeat. He liked the sound of it for some reason. Bucky's tail also swayed casually in the air, the neither of them mattering in that moment.

"I... there was... something _else_. But... I don't want to talk about it." Steve tried to, and horribly failed at keeping his anxiety out of his voice. That disinterested, lost expression returned to Bucky's features, his eyes glazed over. He wasn't truly there, mentally at least. The demon tilted his head, hair cascading over his shoulders. He was _trying_ to act like he was still there, listening to Steve, as intently as he could. Bucky hoped Steve didn't notice the sudden tension creeping into his posture, the way he brought up all of his defensive walls as he possibly could.

"What is it? The train?" Bucky questioned him in a low, almost demanding tone. It didn't fit the lost, longing, and confused body language he was expressing. Steve cringed visibly at the words, furrowing his brows. He contemplated on the words, as to what the _train_ might have been, and found he had no memories of such.

"Train? What train? I don't remember anything about a train." Steve shamefully admitted he relaxed when Bucky was pulled back to reality, the demon raising his eyebrows in realization.

"Oh. Then what do you not want to talk about?" There was nothing transferred over their bond. Absolutely nothing. Bucky's end was transmitting nothing but a blank slate, no emotion. Not even subtle hints of the demon's thoughts. That fact deeply disturbed Steve, while he tried to focus on Bucky and the sarcastic tone in his voice. This... this wasn't the demon he had been getting to know.

"If I don't want to talk about it, I'm not going to talk about it. It's a fragment of something and it... it... makes me sad, I guess? I don't know." Concern flashed on Bucky's features, before his face settled into a scowl. Steve had mumbled the words as dismissively as he could, but he came out sounding defensive. He _was_ being defensive. He didn't completely understand who had been speaking, and who or what it was about. Bucky leveled his appearance, brushing his hair over his shoulders. He shifted on the bed, wringing his hands together. Steve wanted to be able to tell if the demon was nervous or not, but the bond was still a blank canvas. Bucky was creating all of this body language in an attempt to act normally- it was a façade that seemed almost too-perfect. The demon had obviously used it before, and it had likely fooled the people he had been using it against. Steve could see right through him, and Bucky knew this.

"Hey... are you okay?" Even if Steve already knew the answer to that question, he asked the demon none the less. Reaching to grab Bucky's arms, the two of them were shocked out of their stupor when Bucky visibly jumped just as Steve's fingers brushed against his arm. The bond was flooded with emotions once again, and Steve felt like he was being suffocated. Bucky was so confused, hurt, conflicted, hopeful, delighted, and in agony at once. His thoughts and motives couldn't be heard or seen, only his shock at the blond's grip on his arm. Bucky inhaled deeply, gaze flickering to Steve and the grip he had on his arm. Steve began to think the demon's sudden blank state from before wasn't a façade, but likely a result of what had been done to him. He had been experimented on, changed from human to demon. Steve was afraid Bucky was going to shut himself out again, but the demon relaxed as he placed a hand over Steve's. He pried the blond's fingers off his arm, and rather intertwined theirs together.

"I'm fine. What about _you_ , though?" Bucky finally replied after nothing but a few minutes of their breathing, and their heartbeats drumming in their ears. The demon's voice was soft, his eyes closing only half-way. Shadows were cast on his cheeks by his thick, long eyelashes, almost obscuring his eyes. Steve could still feel that piercing, intrusive gaze on him, and it made him uneasy. Rather than acting out on it, he took the demon's stare as the weakest form of affection he could manage. Giving Bucky a small smile, he glanced up to the ceiling. Such a pretty color.

"I'm okay. I'm a bit tired, and my head hurts. Though... I think my feelings are what hurt the most." Steve finished with a yawn, gaze redirecting itself automatically onto Bucky. Steve had failed to notice how close the demon had gotten to him, until a kiss was placed on his forehead.

"Get some sleep, then." As soon as Bucky muttered the words above Steve, the blond found himself quickly losing control to the claws of slumber. It called to him too strongly, and within seconds he was out cold. Bucky lingered over the edge of the bed, claws digging into the sheets next to Steve. He hovered over the blond's form, lips only a few inches away from his. Bucky scowled at the thoughts scratching at him, trying to place as much distance as he could between the two of them. Their bond called to the demon, who melted at the idea of being pressed against Steve's body all over again. He calmed the beasts that were his instincts and wishes, settling for simply resting his head on Steve's chest. The slow thudding of the blond's heart dared to lure Bucky into the jaws of sleep, threatening him to chase after the blond into their subtle, flowing dreamscape. With Steve's pulse under his fingertips, Bucky found himself mesmerized by the melody, sighing thoughtfully as he followed Steve into their connected dreams.

 **oOo**

"Bucky, no. You don't get to come with me to the academy." Steve reprimanded the demon that stood in the doorway, making Steve's early Monday morning a _disaster_. Not only had Bucky drank the last of coffee, eaten the last donuts, he was blocking Steve's exit from the house with a smug smirk pulling at the ends of his lips. The demon had his arms crossed over his bare chest, tattoos shining with sweat in the morning light. Bucky's eyes glittered with amusement, the demon's bewilderment was sent over their bond, making Steve truly believed Bucky wanted to go for _him_ , and not to terrorize other people. With a sigh Steve's patronizing gaze fell, replaced by one that met Bucky's gaze with the same amount of amusement the demon was showing.

"Fine. You can come with me. But stay quiet and _behave_. Demons bonded with proffessionals don't act like rabid, untamed, and outspoken animals. They're quiet, constantly having their instincts forced down by the human's will. I-.. I won't do that to you, but try to act _somewhat_ docile? Please?" Steve's strict tone of agreement had melted to something shy, quiet, and practically _begging_ Bucky to behave while at the academy. Bucky flashed him a wide grin with a twitch of his ears, and a flick of his tail.

" _Sure_ , I'll behave. _Stevie_." Bucky purred out the words all too willingly, and Steve couldn't say he was surprised when the demon's little clothing left disappeared in smoke.

"If you can too, that is." Bucky presented himself with a staggering amount of pride, back pressed to the door and his legs spread far apart. The demon's grin only grew wider when Steve's gaze quickly swept over him, the pink coloring of a blush seeping into his cheeks and reaching his ears. Steve silently pleaded for Bucky's clothing to return, and was downright _thankful_ when they had returned to the demon's body. He was wearing a shirt as well. A _Captain America_ T-shirt. They still sold things like that nowadays, to both of their surprise. Bucky moved away from the door, gesturing to in a sweeping, sarcastic motion.

"Shall we?" Bucky regarded Steve with a condescending smirk, fangs showing, glinting in the lighting. Steve slowly blinked at him, raising an eyebrow.

"Stop it." Bucky only chuckled at his reply that lacked any heat, purring as he opened the door. He motioned for Steve to follow him, stopping right before the steps leading off the large wooden porch. Steve had to admit, he loved how Natasha owned a _mansion_. What she did in life, what was her occupation, didn't matter to Steve. She was his friend with a really, really _amazing_ house. The large, open yard sprawled out before them, marble fencing with vines overgrowing some of the corners. Weeping Willows scattered on the front and back yards, with occassional aspen. Flower gardens were kept as bright and colorful as possible, hues of blue and red melting together creating lilacs, lavenders, and so many other colors. On the yard in front of the property was Steve's _Koenigsegg_ , a sleek, low-riding and expensive luxury model vehicle. It was painted black with red metalics, sharply-cut steel rims. The beautiful _beast_ of an automobile was clearly personally designed, with the obvious look of an artist's mark. It was different than other models the company made, the body of the car had an unique look. Bucky seemed confused at the car as he hurried along the cobblestone pathway and casting Steve a curious look behind his back every few moments. _Since when did Steve like luxury model cars?_

"Is.. is that your.. your... car?" The demon's voice added to Steve's amusement, the smile he was sporting meeting his shining blue eyes. Flashing Bucky a thousand-watt grin, he unlocked the car doors, which swung open automatically on both sides. Bucky had a look of amazement settled on his face as he retreated into the passenger seat, not bothering to buckle his seat belt even as Steve did so. The blond flashed him a reprimanding look, expression fading into a victorious smile as Bucky pulled the seatbelt over his form. Turning to the blond with a judgemental look, Bucky glared at him from a few inches away.

"Yes, this is my car. Natasha bought it for me on my birthday." Not tearing his focused gaze away from the road as the engine roared to life with a low rumble, Steve confirmed what the demon had already assumed.

 **oOo**

Bucky had been astounded at the amount of people that went to the academy Steve taught at. Hundreds, maybe even thousands of students were scurrying to get inside different sections of the massive building. The large, spanning campus was without any doubt funded by the government directly, grass so green Bucky thought it was fucking _emeralds_ they were walking on. Bucky followed Steve in silence, tension apparent in the stiff way he walked, his movements swift and forced to appear to relaxed. Steve was practically gliding across the grass until they reached the center of the campus, turning into light tan brights colliding with the freshly mowed lawn around. Steve ignored the way some of the students stared at them for far too long, their gazes glued to the demon shadowing him only a few feet away. Bucky however, felt too vunerable with all the prying eyes locked onto him. The temperature around them dropped drastically, too quickly to be naturally possible. Frost coated the pavement, benches, the water in the fountains freezing in their motions. The grass became stiff, no longer swaying in the light breeze. The ground beneath Steve's every step wasn't cold like the world around him, rather untouched by the changes around him. Steve however, noticed this, looking over his shoulder to cast Bucky a very intense, annoyed _glare_. Bucky's tail swayed behind him, the chosing to act oblivious. With a sigh Steve shook his head, focusing his anger on the path ahead him- the one that led into the main sector of the academy. It was astonishing, the architecture a mix of many from around the world. They all blended together seamlessly, creating the greatest architectural achievement in the world. With the greatest education system for demonology in the world, Steve was honored to work there, one of the proffessors for summoning, biology, and the historical aspect of demons as well. As Steve led Bucky through the doorway, the demon was assaulted with the scents of thousands of students, hundreds of proffessors. It made him feel sick to his stomach, the contents of innocent, delicious donuts threatening to come up his throat. Steve cast him a perplexed glance, before raising his eyebrows and nodding as he came to a mental conclusion. Pointing at the nearest garbage can, Steve cringed as Bucky rushed over and vomited the contents of his stomach into it. It smelt like _rum_. The demon had been _drinking_. Steve signed to him in ASL, telling him to stay there as he went to retrieve something from the front desks. Bucky likely didn't understand him, shrugging before he vomited into the garbage can once again. Steve had tried to get to the front desk as quickly as possible without running, trying to gently push his way through the crowd of students that were going through the halls. When he reached the front desk, a young woman with short dark brown hair and a single white streak in her bangs greeted him.

"Hello Mr. Rogers, how may I help you today?" The woman purred out in her southern accent, causing shivers to crawl up Steve's spine. He was slightly distracted, trying to remember her name and where he had known her from, and she luckily noticed and pointed to the name tag on the pocket on the left side of her shirt. It read _Rogue_. Steve nodded, looking behind him for a few seconds to see Bucky still vomiting into the trash can, grimacing at the sight before returning his gaze to her.

"Hey, Rogue, do you have one of those scent-blocking masks for demons in humanized form? I kinda.. brought... one... with me..." Steve would motion with his head in Bucky's direction, to which Rogue eventually caught on to. She leaned in her chair to look past him, nodding. Standing up, she walked over to one of the cases which held different masks for different types of demons, to either muzzle them, or block out scents. She found one that'd work for both, green orbs flickering to Bucky every once in a while as she unlocked the case, picking up a shiny, dark leather mask. Bucky was holding onto the edges of the garbage can for dear life, but every time he inhaled he got another whiff of the mixing of _too many_ scents. His gagging caught the attention of a few more students, as if enough weren't already paused in their daily routine of scurrying to watch the demon get sick. When Rogue handed Steve the mask, he muttered his thanks to her before rushing over to Bucky. He was not happy. At _all_. He kind have wished he killed Steve, for agreeing to let him come with him. He wasn't expecting this many people... not a campus of this _scale_ , and certainly not that many demons to be in the building. When Steve placed the mask over his face, Bucky discovered he wasn't able to smell anything after that point. It fit firmly over his jaw, covering his nose, his mouth, and part of his cheeks. It curved over the bridge of his nose, fitting in place along his cheekbones. It was a _muzzle_ , as he found he wasn't able to speak, either. When Bucky tried to remove the mask to say something, the blasted thing _burned_ him. It wasn't coming off unless a human removed it. Fan-fucking-tastic.

 **oOo**

Bucky had seated himself _ontop_ of Steve's desk, not giving the blond room to argue with a simple glare. Rather, Steve looked elated Bucky was willing to stay in place, as he pivoted on his heel to begin writing runes, sigils, and different headings on the chalkboard. Students were beginning to file into the large classroom, and rather than whispering, chattering, and throwing pencils at each other as they usually would the classroom felt hollow with the absence of noise. The only sound was the chalk scraping on the chalkboard, and the shuffling of feet as uniform-issue shoes squeaked on the wooden flooring. The students' gazes were glued onto Bucky, and the demon felt quite uncomfortable. Steve had donned a pair of glasses, a low prescription clearly, but there none the less. He stopped writing for a few moments, taking mental note that all students were present. _No one_ missed Rogers' class. Nodding he turned around, chalk still in hand.

"Has anyone in here been drinking recently, had sex, or is wearing expensive perfume or strong cologne? Don't worry, I won't tell the other proffessors or the headmaster." Steve addressed the class in a tone too _serious_ for himself, everyone still stunned into silence, before less than ten students raised their hands. Some judgemental glances were exchanged before Steve nodded. Placing the chalk on his desk, he pulled Bucky's mask off only for the demon to gag, _again_. Steve quickly shoved it back on, a red tint finding it's way onto his cheeks.

"Yep, you can't have that off yet. Anybody got a plastic bag? The garbage cans are out in the hallway-" Steve looked up to the students, before a pair scurried to leave the classroom to retrieve one of the garbage cans. The rest, however, were too captivated by the extremely attractive demon their proffessor had brought with him. _Samuel Wilson_ and _Wanda Maximoff_ returned less than a minute later, the both of them subtly trying to fight over the trash can. They placed it down, _gently_ , next to Steve's desk, trying to ignore his slightly annoyed, but somehow thankful glare.

"You're not supposed to leave the classroom, but I'll let it slide this time. Back to your seats." The two of them nodded, walking back up to their seats as Steve removed Bucky's mask for the second time. Bucky didn't gag again, fortunately, only giving Steve a level-headed glare. He was clearly unamused. One of the students had left their seat, a bottle of ginger ale in hand. Steve took it from them, handing it to Bucky. With a roll of his eyes, he picked up the chalk and turned to the chalkboard once more to finish his writing.

"I'm afraid I didn't have things set up in advance of classes today, _someone_ here decided to lose his lunch." A few snickers erupted in the classroom, quickly silenced by a glare from Bucky as he whipped his head back to direct his heated gaze at the students.

"Now then, I hope you remember that sliver of a lesson from Friday. While Monday covered topics about _Dragons_ , Friday just barely scraped the surface of the manipulative, seductive, and mischievious sub-class of _sex-demons_. Does anyone remember what the two types are? Parker, Maximoffs, you keep your hands down." Steve began in his proffessonal, strict tone, ending in a question before becoming a witty, amused remark. Peter, Wanda, and Pietro all lowered their hands. A multitude of students raised their hands, and Bucky dare say he was _surprised_ at their eagerness to participate in class. Steve waved his hand at one of the students, not even looking in his direction. The students all lowered their hands as Sam cleared his throat.

"Incubi and Succubi, sir." A few students looked jealous at Sam being able to answer and not them, but their attention was quickly captured by the half-shrug and nod Steve replied with.

"Yep. Male sex-demons and female sex-demons. Same thing, just their bodies appear to be different genders. There are, however, variations that place them clearly apart. Can someone tell the rest of us what it is? Not me of course, I already know. Just askin' if ya actually read yer chapter in the textbooks durin' the weekend... and, ya know, remembered." Bucky was baffled at the casual tone Steve explained, and then joked with. It was like he wasn't even teaching in a world-famous academy at all, just mocking people in an expensive suit. A dirty-blond haired student raised his hand, and Steve directed his attention to the student momentarily before returning to writing on the chalkboard. The student took it as privledge to speak, raising his eyebrows at the casual manner in the classroom.

"Succubi tend to keep companions, have multiple partners, and stereotypically, are known as the _whores_ of the demon world. Want free sex but don't have any money? Why, just trade spiritual energy, of course. Not always your choice, but... yeah. Succubi prefer physical trade to leeching from their victims while they are half asleep, while Incubi tend to prefer the dreamscape, almost tapping into the victim's life force as it is a considerable amount of damage to the human, or demon. When the sex is physical for an Incubi, however, there is a very high chance they'll adapt to their partner, and be able to consume a greater amount of energy without exhausting the other to the point of death... in most cases. Death is still very, very likely." Wade wiggled his eyebrows again after explaining the smug tone of voice evident as the students all had their attention on him, making him feel quite confident. The stares were thankfully redirected to Steve, who had finished writing diagrams on the chalk board. He nodded again, noticing the subtle ways Bucky reacted to that information. The demon took another swig of the ginger ale, grimacing at the taste. Steve had a wide grin on his features, and Bucky felt very disturbed by this. The entire class seemed to lean forwards in their seats, everyone intrigued at what would have their proffessor in such high spirits. He gestured to Bucky, and suddenly the demon felt way too exposed.

"And here, we have Bucky. He recently got a taste of energy in a physical form of transfer, which was accepted by both parties. Incubi and Succubi receive more energy- regardless whether it's in the dreamscape or not- when it's not just a physical activity. Dare I say... it was more _making love_ than just having sex. So, who wants to see what he can do?" Steve's grin only grew wider as he continued, ignoring the way Bucky scoffed at him in offense. He may have been human at some point, but talking about him like he was an _object_ deeply offended the different types of demons stirring in his bloodstream. A little over half the class raised their hands, some with extremely red faces. Peter, Wanda, Pietro, and Sam were among the majority with reddened cheeks. Wade was had a shit-eating grin on his face with his hand raised, as it was no secret he really, really _loved_ to get laid. He was probably proud of Steve for getting a piece of ass.

"Steve, what the literal _fuck_." Bucky held the bottle only a few inches away from his lips, furrowing his eyebrows as his eyes widened at the blond. It was an entirely new side of Steve, to which the blond only replied with smiling wider. He breathed out the words with disgust, gray orbs flickering to the class for a few seconds before returning to Steve. The man had straightened his tie, eyebrows raised as he tried to keep a straight face.

"Is that why you agreed to let me come with you?" Bucky fumed at him, his tone all too accusing.

"Yep." Bucky threw his head back as he groaned, his palm hitting his forehead as he shook his head.

"You are such an ass." Bucky screwed the lid back onto the mostly empty soda bottle, setting it on the desk. He crossed his arms, glaring at Steve. His ears twitched as he picked up a few snickers from the classroom, mostly of whispers of _he does have a nice one-_

"Yeah, he does have a great ass! You should see it sometime!" Pietro had his hands around his mouth, amplifying his voice, acting as a megaphone. Wanda's head whipped so fast to face her twin, Bucky could have sworn she should have gotten whiplash. She struct him across the cheek, a few students gasping at the notion. Steve clapped quite sarcastically, before motioning to the chalkboard. It looked like gibberish to Bucky. He was probably going to be embarrassed.

"Some Incubi and Succubi have been observed to have a small amount of elemental powers, however they mostly influence the mind, and when haven't consumed energy for a long enough period of time, produce pheromones that are strong enough even the average human can smell. It can turn the most prude, strict, and well-kept woman- or even man, to a horny sex-loving slave. Bonus points if you're into BDSM, then you can have some fun, too. Most people don't remember anything after being under a sex-demon's influence, and most people either end up _dead_ , or in the hospital." Steve explained while looking at his nails, picking some dirt from underneath them. Some of the students could have been jerking off or fucking in the back of the classroom and he probably wouldn't have noticed, yet every single seat was filled and _all_ of the attention was on Steve. Bucky felt an amount of respect he didn't know was there for the blond, yet still felt the underlying tinges of anger. One of the students raised their hands, which Bucky recognized as one of the students that had spoken earlier.

"Let me guess, somebody's going to get hypnotized?" Wade remarked with such an amount of snark Bucky didn't believe was possible, the blond had a grin on his face, wiggling his eyebrows as his eyes lit up. Steve made little finger-gun motions at him, smiling widely. _Oh fuck_.

"Steve, how the fuck do you even keep your job? I'm pretty sure this is breaking every single goddamn safety guideline in every school, academy, and college around the world." Steve turned to him slowly, eyebrows raised while making duck-lips.

"We don't tell their parents, the other proffessors, or the headmaster. What did ya think? Following the _rules_? Bucky, c'mon. Not that kind of person. Most of the kids in here are, but, hey, think we're all going crazy at this point so we get to have some fun." Bucky scowled at him, turning to the class as he grimaced at them. It looked like some people were _attracted_ to him. Shoo! Shoo ugly, disgusting creatures. Ew. Children.

"...So, who's up?" Steve turned back to the class, observing as the class quickly erupted into whispers, some students raising their voices. Steve made a motion with his hand for them to quiet themselves, and to Bucky's suprise, they _did_. That's it, he's so _done_. They are fucking _insane_. Wanda slowly stood, her cheeks so red it matched her lipstick. Bucky swung his legs over the desk, landing on his feet. He stretched as he stood, working out the kinks in his spine. When the girl stood in front of him, he sighed.

"This is _crazy_ , Steve." Bucky shook his head as energy gathered at his fingertips, focused in his left hand. It was mixes of red, blue, and white. The red seemed to swallow the other colors, the two others only small fragments and patches in strips of red. It swirled in the air, before Bucky pressed two fingers to Wanda's forehead. His eyes glowed silver, hers' _red_. Something was fighting him, but Wanda had no control over her abilities that lurked in her bloodstream, Bucky quickly winning her over. As he drew his hand away from her, he looked up to the crowd of students. She slowly turned her head, her eyes glowing a bright red.

"Now then, have her do something. Nothing inappropriate, please." Steve commanded Bucky in a stern tone, even with that sugary little _please_ as the added cherry ontop. Bucky leaned over Wanda to whisper into her ear, the class moving forward in their seats to see what he'd have her do. Wanda slowly leaned back, leg raising as she did a pose similiar to something ballerinas did. Bucky grabbed her hand, spinning her. It was effortless, a smooth, fluid motion that had the class speechless, every student captivated in awe. Bucky let her almost slip from his grip, her body low to the floor. Her hair brushed against his shoes, and the demon took it as a cue to release control from her. The pair's eyes returned to their normal shades of gray, and the students seemed breathless as they watched. Wanda choked trying to suck air into her lungs. Bucky placed a kiss to her collarbone, surprising Steve, the class, and Wanda herself as the energy was returned to her. She swallowed thickly as she allowed Bucky to pull her to her feet, eyes locked onto him. There was an amount of fear in her eyes, but also an amount of respect that spoke many words between the two of them. As she slowly slipped away from his grip, their fingers brushed together and she visibly shivered. Pietro was staring at him in shock, amazed the demon had returned the energy he'd stolen from Wanda as he took control of her mind. Wade was even speechless by that, eyes wide as he pressed his lips together while staring at the demon.

"Now, since it wasn't covered in your textbooks- I'll tell you the easiest way to break yourself from a Succubus' or an Icubus' control. While you'll feel exhausted, might cause yourself a case of amnesia and a whole new world of pain as you experience a headache that feels like a stroke, you'll be saving yourself from perhaps death." Steve caught the classes' attention, the whispers that had been flowing came to a stop. Wanda took her seat next to her brother and Peter, in between the two of them. They both looked at her with concern, but she had her attention elsewhere. Her eyes were locked with Bucky's, the two of them speaking through a mental link the demon had secretly formed with her.

 _'You were actually slightly difficult to gain control of. You have abilities- I saw it in your eyes. I could feel it in your veins.'_ Wanda blinked slowly, trying to grasp the words forming in her mind. She had no idea how the demon was speaking to her, and how no one else heard it. She said nothing, but thought aloud. Bucky heard her.

 _'What are you talking about?'_ Bucky's posture shifted slightly as he looked at the floor in contemplation. After a few seconds, his gaze flickered back up to hers.

 _'There is power in your blood. It revolves around the mind. You should be able to cause hallucinations, move things with your mind, and even control others through subtle encouragement.'_ The words ringing in Wanda's head felt like thunder roaring in her ears- her heart drummed against her ribcage painfully. She tried to hide her discomfort by looking at the textbook on her desk, the notes beside it. She would have mentally interrogated the demon if she was able, but Steve tapped a finger against the chalkboard, drawing her attention to the markings.

"Rule one: You are missing a few of your senses. Heat sensory, smell, along with pain. If you are having a very... _spicy_ dream while missing those senses, there is a chance it could be a succubus or an incubus. However there's also a chance it's simply a dream lacking feeling. Rule two: Unrecognizable face. Human minds save every face they see in their lifetime for use in dreams, creating sensory beings to interact with in the dreamscape. However, if you have the feeling you do _not_ know the person in your dream, any way, shape or form, it could quite possibly be an attack by a succubus or an incubus." Steve kept a heated glare on the class, watching as some students seemed shocked by this information. Others were scribbling notes down furiously, while others seemed to pale and have sweat clinging to their skin. Bucky was almost horrified at the thought that so many of the students may have encountered his _kind_. He seated himself back ontop of Steve's desk, grabbing the bottle of ginger ale, unscrewing the cap, and taking a swig. He was beginning to feel sick again- though for a different reason. He was beyond _disgusted_ at his thoughts. He turned to Steve, who had a frown on his features. He had noticed the changes in some of the students as well.

"If you are lacking senses, search where you are for them. The body against you should be heated, you should feel the sweat clinging to their skin- a cool contrast to the high temperature their bodies _should_ have. If you do not know the face, try to think of them with another's. Replace them with one you hate- or, to disgust yourself, a family member's face. It will slowly break the connection they have with you- and you will be able to free yourself from their gasp. However you could lose your ability to feel a certain sense- or even forget a face. I suggest the face of someone you hate, or someone you are repulsed by." Steve explained slowly, yet in the least detail he could offer. It was kept simple- and had a _warning_ to go with it. He had even explained how it would free them from the demon's grasp- and Bucky hoped the students would use that knowledge carefully.

"Also, this isn't mentioned on the semester assessments or the finals. Don't write about it. You're not supposed to know this. But hey, go tell your friends if you want to- save some people, just remember to give them _all_ the details. And don't tell them where you heard it from." Steve raised his hands up in defense, shrugging as he did so. Some of the students rolled their eyes, others shook their heads and a few banged their heads against the tables. It was so informal, but in this classroom it was the norm. It felt _natural_ , when it'd be unacceptable in other classrooms. This was the most prestigeous academy in the entire _world_ , revolving around demonology and even normal college and high-school subjects. Tired of high-school? Fifteen? You can go apply and be taught by the most highly-trained proffessors and teachers in the world, receive the best education across and globe, and don't even have to pay for it or even the campus-housing. Probably the best thing ever achieved on the globe, if Bucky had anything to say on it. Wait, it _is_ considered the best. That probably explains why it is absolutely _gigantic_ and has _thousands_ of students. Taking another swig of the ginger ale, Bucky raised his eyebrows as he swung his legs with a mix of impatience and boredom. Some of the students looked annoyed by it.

"Movin' on. When you're done taking notes, turn to page four-hundred twenty-three. Elemental sub-abilities observed in some _sex-demons_ , and guess what?" A lot of the students stopped flipping through pages in their textbooks, others stopped writing notes. A few seconds after Steve had said _'guess what?'_ the classes' attention was glued to the way Steve looked excited. He waved his hands in a dramatic presenting motion, before pointing at Bucky with the finger-guns. _Again_.

"Steve. What the fuck." Bucky heard a faint _'language!'_ from somewhere in the classroom, his ears twitching, turning, tilting, trying to find the origin of the voice. Steve gave him a smug-looking smirk, before flashing him a thumbs-up.

"You're the one who froze the water in your glass and then threw the ice at Natasha." Steve crossed his arms over his chest, tilting his head upwards as he glared at Bucky through the rims of his glasses. The demon slowly blinked, letting out a loud, tired sigh.

"I was mad at her. She knocked you out by smashing the table over your head. It was a very pretty table." Wade snorted so violently it hurt his throat. He was chuckling for a few seconds, before throwing his head back in laughter. After a few moments, he squinted at Steve, a grin finding it's way onto his features.

"Is the table okay?" It earned Wade a lot of glares, but the only one he cared about was Peter's. The way the teen squinted at him through his glasses made the older man suddenly feel so _small_. When Steve cast him a glare, Wade's expression dropped and he straightened in his seat. Bucky had also turned to bore holes into him, probably eating away what was left of his soul. Steve's glare was scary enough, but the demon's was absolutely horrifying. He swallowed audibly, shifting in his seat nervously.

"Sorry, sir." With Wade's apology, Steve looked away. Bucky however, did not. The demon making was it _very_ clear that _he_ was the only one allowed to make fun of Steve. Wade slunk into his seat, relief flooding his veins as the demon turned back to Steve. Steve raised his hand up as he shrugged, before motioning to Bucky silently that made the demon roll his eyes.

"But ya did it." Steve snapped his fingers after the words left his mouth, trying to force down his expressions as Bucky squinted at him with a look that said _dont you dare say it_.

"And that means you can control the freezing elements of ice." Steve shifted his weight on his feet, snapping his fingers again as he rotated his hand, palm up. Flipping the demon off too quickly for most of the students to see, however for the few that did snickered or _'ooh'_ ed.

"You keep this bullshit up the only thing that's going to be freezing in here..." Bucky began with a threat, a serious, annoyed expression on his face. The relaxing atmosphere in the room was cut through with a knife of tension so thick you'd find butter on it.

"Is your _coffee_ in the morning." The demon finished the sentence with a wide grin, tilting his head as Steve's glare reached degrees the students didn't know were possible.

"Don't you dare."

"I can, and I will."

"I will put a leash on you."

"Careful, I might like that."

"I will let Natasha take you on walks. She's been wanting to."

"I will destroy your coffee machine."

The two held each other's gazes with comical expressions, Bucky's of sarcasm and Steve's looking like he was trying to act serious but was failing and was slowly beginning to smile. The atmosphere in the classroom turned to amusement, some students leaning back in their seats to better watch which of the two would sass the other next.

"Fine." Bucky had given in, an anti-climatic end to an entertaining argument. He waved his hands in the air as he did a dramatic bow, rolling his eyes at the same time. The class was silent, curious if he'd just make a snowball to throw at Steve's face. Or freeze his coffee. Either was fine. Rather, they were amazed at what the demon did next.

Bucky muttered something in one of the dialects of the demonic language, his eyes beginning to glow a bright blue. He quickly wrote sigils in the air, the tattoos on his arms glowing bright enough to be seen through his shirt. When he dropped to the floor and slammed his fist into the hardwood, the entire room dropped several degrees. Patterns of ice began to spread quickly from where the demon's fist had landed, a thick layer covering the floor. The chandelier above cracked and swung as a fierce breeze blew papers around the room, everyone in the room feeling the drastic temperature change. It had dropped well below zero. There was a thick fog around where the demon had been, and some of the students panicked. Others were bound to their seats by curiosity. When the fog cleared, the demon's appearance had also changed.

His hair was stark-white, his eyes were ice-blue. His shirt was ironically burned away, the tattoos on his chest glowing bright enough to be almost blinding. The snow-leopard ears on his head had been replaced by curling horns, starting only an inch above his hairline. They curled upwards and then backwards, almost a perfect circle. His tail also no longer existed, at all. His fingertips had a blue tint to them, a deep color contrasting on how pale his skin had become. Bucky raised his left hand into the air, palm facing upwards and fingers spread apart. The room grew only dangerously colder as he did this. Rather than making them suffer longer, the demon snuffed the effects of the room by making a fist with his hand. The temperature rose too fast to be natural, the ice disappearing and not a single trace was left behind. Bucky's appearance also returned to what it had been, no horns- dark brown hair, gray eyes, a snow-leopard tail and ears, and tanned skin over taunt muscles. Tattoos no longer glowing, rather now only deep, bloody wounds on his arms. Bucky didn't seem bothered by it.

"You're not going to normally encounter succubi or incubi that can control elements to that level unless you're in the Netherworld, which you'll never go to unless you sell your soul or humanity to a very strong demon to become one in order to go there. Also... anybody got a shirt?" Bucky addressed the class-room with an impassive voice, a blank expression on his features. He tilted his head almost curiously as he was met with silence, the entire class stunned speechless. Steve exhaled slowly, eyes glued to him. Bucky refused to meet the blond's stare, but something stirred him to look anyways. Even if his bangs obscured some of his view, he turned on his heel to meet Steve's gaze, arms dangling at his sides.

"That... that was... _extraordinary_." Steve's words sounded breathless, even if he could breathe perfectly fine. His eyes were lit up inquisitively, a thirst for knowledge that the incubus could only provide him worth.

"Oh, and I didn't sell my soul. Just sayin'." Bucky added as an afterthought, furrowing his eyebrows. He could feel the stares still on him, a fiery heat against his already pained flesh. Unnerving. Odd. Discomfort. He shuddered at the attention, trying to blatantly focus on Steve. The blond turned to the class and cheered, before dramatically bowing.

"And that's more than I bargained for but hey! Maybe you can ask him to make you a few snowballs to throw at Stark if he's an ass at lunch." Steve was way too excited after what Bucky had done. It kind of... scared him. That was an accurate word. He was scared as to why his display of _deadliness_ would excite Steve. Maybe it was one of the blond's turn-ons? Wait, no. Steve always liked danger. _Shit. Fuck. Yes._ Steve blew a kiss to the class, and the students began to pack up their things, a few of them still had ice particles in their air.

"Class dismissed... for now."

 **oOo**

When the class was dismissed, Steve placed the mask back on Bucky so he wouldn't end up getting sick in the hallway. One of the students hand loaned him a jacket to use, to be returned the next day. Steve knew Bucky could just conjure a shirt out of nothing, but the demon seemed stubborn to this fact and didn't want to reveal such. It was then Steve realized there was nothing, absolutely _nothing_ normal about what had occurred. No succubus or incubus should have that much control over an element. They're usually only able to subtly change their body's temperature, or the temperature of a single room to _feel_ colder of warmer, not actually become so. They were players of the mind, masters of hallucination. Bucky- Bucky had made the hallucinations a _reality_. He turned to Bucky, as the demon could already feel the blond's curiosity through their bond. He was regarding Steve in an affectionate manner, those gray eyes lighting themselves with that damned emotion Steve would sometimes feel for Bucky. He was probably smiling underneath the mask, already realizing Steve was captivated at the danger that shrouded the demon. Danger? That's an understatement. Brown hair slightly ruffled, swaying as Bucky laughed at him. A hand placed on his hip, eyebrows raising as he squinted at the blond's baffled, but still _interested_ expression. His voice was muffled through the mask, but still understandable. Steve huffed at him, smacking his chest. _Ugh._ He felt the warm flesh underneath his fingertips, smooth, perfect and calling to him. An unwanted amount of passion had spread south in Steve's pants, and he knew at this point Bucky was fucking _losing it_. He was laughing so hard he sounded like he was choking, holding his sides as his shoulders shook with the noise. He'd _enchanted_ Steve.

"Seriously?" Steve shook his head, rolling his eyes as he did so. Bucky's laughter had stifled into nothing but occassional giggles as the two pressed through the crowd of students to the cafeteria. An idea, a _crazy_ one popped into Steve's mind, and he grabbed Bucky's arm to bring the demon's attention to him.

"You owe me a blood sample." Something close to fear flashed in Bucky's eyes, before looking far-off into the distance. A few seconds later the ability to function and feel emotion returned to him, and Steve felt suffocated by the amount of fear pulsing through their bond. Steve feared he had said something he truly shouldn't have- even with the scent-cancelling mask, Bucky was reeking pheromones that caught other demon's interest. Some in the hallways stopped- whether they were bound to students or proffessors, they seemed to freeze, growls erupting in the hallway. Steve felt so ashamed- he had just made Bucky a _target_ to other demons.

"U-uh.. I... I'm sorry. I... I just... I just want to know what y-you are... It was... it felt... it was so..." Steve tripped over his words, grimacing at his own failure to apologize to the demon. Bucky shook his head, placing a hand over the one Steve had still gripping onto the demon's arm. The fear in those gray eyes had been replaced with sadness- a type of longing Steve recognized as when the demon was angry at himself, yet still pitied Steve.

"It's okay. But I told you already. I'm a monster." A snarl was heard in the hallway, and suddenly the commotion in the hallway turned to silence. Students for demonology, students for high school, students for college all froze- and every single teacher and proffessor discretly reached for the weapons hidden under their uniform blazers. Steve simply shuddered, closing his eyes as he hoped, _prayed_ even that no one thought it was Bucky who growled.

"No, you're not. You said you were _becoming_ a monster. You never became a monster. But from what I've seen- from today, from yesterday, from the days before- from when I met you, from how _strong_ you are to break through a _dragon's_ wards- you're not just an incubus, Bucky. We both know that. And I want to figure out why- and _how_." Steve corrected him quietly but also sternly, face contorting into a scowl. Probably the angriest he'd ever had- since he had woken up one day in this white room with no memories. The angriest he'd ever been since he met Natasha- but instantly calmed in her pressence. She was familiar, just like Bucky. But... the demon, saying things about himself that hurt _Steve_ , to hear him even say the words... it angered him. He didn't like the feeling. Directing his glare at Bucky, he watched as the fear returned to the demon's eyes.

"Stop thinking you're a monster, Bucky." Steve whispered to Bucky, the earlier heat drained from his voice. The expression remained. Bucky shuddered under the blond's gaze, which felt too intrusive to truly be Steve's.

"Steve, _please_. Don't. I don't need you to know _what_ I am, just _who_. It's all that means to me." A roar, then a scream in the distance. The effect Bucky had on the other demons were driving them wild, and soon a gunshot rang through the air. An enchanted bullet had gone through a rage-demon's head, the creature exploding in a display of blood, bones, and internal organs. Some students were covered in the mess, and soon people began to panic. The headmaster would arrive soon to see what caused the commotion. _Steve_ and _Bucky_ couldn't be found there when the man did. Steve ignored how Bucky pleaded with him, and instead removed the demon's mask. That single demon that had gone rampant, but caught before could cause any harm, would no longer be the only incident that would occur. Bucky gagged, moving his hand from it's place over Steve's to cover his nose and his mouth.

"And knowing what you are means something to me. How about a deal? I find out who you are through _emotions_ , our _bond_ , unless it means nothing to you. Maybe the dreamscape, too. Let my memories slowly flow through, with a lot less dangerous effects than what Natasha's methods have had. And in _return_ , you let me figure out _what_ you are through science. I studied for this. I _will_ figure it out, sooner or later." Steve proposed the _idea_ as _nicely_ as he could, with a tone that left no room for arguments. Bucky's expression, a cold, hard glare and a scowl as he removed his hand from his face was the demon's reply. _No_. Steve pressed his lips together, not wanting to go _that_ far, but his thirst for knowledge over-powered his sympathy for the demon who only wanted affection and to be known, not studied.

"A no means you leave _Natasha's_ manor, you leave me alone and _never_ come back. A no means I'll have Natasha break the bond by bonding me to her, how she did so for Clint when a demoness forced herself onto him. I'll make you feel the pain you're trying to avoid." Steve didn't bother to whisper at this point, there was panic all around them. Demons were snapping on their bond-mates, snapping at the students, _everyone_. One after another, they fell by the cold-hearted staff-members. It made those they were bonded to feel the pain as their demons died, some screaming in horror, others in pain. Someone had been injured. Someone had been ripped in half. But the demon's were simply trying to get the humans out of the way. They wanted _Bucky_. Bucky... Bucky, _Bucky, Bucky_... He was shaking, mouth hanging open as he looked past Steve. He looked broken, horrified, and lost all at the same time. His heart ached more than he ever thought it would to hear words like _that_ from his _Stevie_. Seconds later, his ears flattened against his skull as he let out a low, guttural growl. Bucky's instincts recognized danger even from the long-range of distance away it was... at least fifty feet. He tore away from Steve's grasp, just as the loudest gunshot in the building was heard. A sniper rifle. Bucky spun on his heel, catching the bullet in a movement so fast, it hurt Steve's eyes to try and follow it. His hand was bleeding, his breathing ragged.

The commotion died- the demons stopped resisting, backing away in submission. The strongest had just asserted himself, collected the breaking pieces of his already damaged heart. Bucky bared his fangs at the shooter, snarling. Rather than a snarl, or a growl, the sound that escaped his throat was a roar. It echoed off the walls, so _loud_ it _hurt_. It was a mix between the sound of a large-feline's roar, and another type of demon Steve couldn't place his finger on at the moment. _Fear_ was what was on Steve's mind at the moment. _Gods_ , he was terrified. He knew if he backed away from Bucky it'd only sour the demon's mood further, and-

Wait. The bullet he caught... if... if hadn't caught it... _it would have pierced through Steve's heart_. When the blond came to realize this, he did a take step back. Bucky was growling, tattoos glowing on his skin, along with his eyes. The demon was _enraged_. That primal instinct to _protect_ was still there even if Steve was pushing him away. _Gods_. Steve didn't know if he ever felt that worthless, so useless, the worst... _gods_ he was a horrible person. He had just threatened to destroy Bucky's only source of happiness- _seconds_ before the demon had _saved his life_. Steve knew crying would be too selfish. Asking the demon again was so _selfish_ even the gods below were cringing at his actions. His words. Steve's words. They would haunt him. Bucky's expression would haunt him. He had looked so _devastated_ , yet still protected him. Taking a few steps back, the only thing Steve could see was a train. That _expression_. He remembered it.

"No, no, no. No. Not the train. Not the train. Not the train. No. No. No. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I... no. Train.. train... sorry... train... sorry..." Steve raked his hands through his hair as his words came out in a choked, broken voice. He was beginning to feel the guilt of his actions, the pain of his past. Steve was shaking, nails dragging through his hair with enough pressure to draw blood. The images wouldn't go away.

"Go away. Go. No. No train. Not the train. Peggy, I don't want to talk about it. No. I.. I couldn't. He.. he... train... train...I'm...sorry. I couldn't save you. I... couldn't... the... train..." Steve sank through the floor, still drawing blood, but this time as he ripped through the fabric of his sleeves. He clawed his arms, tearing through the flesh like it was nothing. His hands were covered in blood.

"Winter. Winter. Winter... it's cold. Train... train..train... stop...stop the train... stop the train...fall... he... he fell.. sorry... I'm sorry..." Bucky straightened his posture, a blank expression on his features. His body language portrayed nothing as he slowly turned to Steve, dropping the bullet on the ground. He observed the blond's breakdown with absolutely no feeling. He felt nothing. He felt cold. Steve shook his head, his words becoming nothing more than mumbles. He was apologizing, that much was clear. He was hurting himself, on the ground, crying. He was apologizing for the train. He remembered the train. He didn't know what he was saying, why he hurt, why the images of someone falling from a train hurt. Steve's mind shut itself out, ripping the memories to shreds.

His mind instinctively reset itself.

 **A/N**

 **So, how did you like it? I loved writing this. I had so many nights with so little sleep writing this. I love this chapter. This is my favorite chapter. I love this chapter. It is going to get better. Because I love this story. I worship it. It's a reason not to throw humanity out a window and fly to Mars. Anyways, tell me what you think about the "oOo" parts... I think it's a good way to separate stuff, yeah? Anyways, please review! I don't care if you're logged in or on a guest account, I love hearing what you guys have to say! Also... mom, kanna, thank you so much for reviewing! And mom.. those plot ideas you gave me to work with? Some of them are going happen, with my alterations to integrate them into the story, of course. ;) Until next time! Don't know what it is, but hopefully it is not as long as this wait time was. I feel so bad for having to make you people wait so long. But hey, at least it's not an entire month apart or a year or anything.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N**

 **Okay, sorry this is 10 days after the second chapter. I got major writer's block. Towards the end I've started to experiment with things more, and maybe close any opportunities some things may have presented, and that's fine with me.**

 **R &R? It fuels the darkness in my soul.**

 **There are added chapter transitions "oOo" to make it easier to read.**

Steve woke up in the same place he had before. A white room, with white walls, flooring, and ceiling. A stiff white bed with nothing but sheets, no pillow, and an iron-barred headboard. A ceiling fan spun on a low setting above, the dim light flickering as the entire fixture shook with the movements. Steve sat up as slowly as he could, trying to avoid the nausea from last time, his head _kindly_ reminding him with a pounding headache. Letting his gaze sweep over the room, Steve saw the radio was still on it's place on the dresser, however the device was _smashed_. That was unnerving enough, but when Steve saw a dark figure in the corner of the room by the door, he felt like the person was suspicious in their completely black garb. Long bangs were covering most of the person's face, but Steve recognized the gray eyes staring at him underneath the bangs. Trying to ignore the person's glare, Steve took in their appearance. A mix of leather and spandex clung tightly to his body, military-style boots that reached only a few inches below his knees, with gun holsters on his hip. There also appeared to be a dagger tucked under his belt, the handle of the weapon gleaming in the lighting of the room. His vest almost looked like a black leather version of a 1940's straight-jacket. The vest appeared to close along the right side of his torso, likely velcro. He was wearing biker-style gloves. The only visible flesh on the man was his face, and even then it was barely anything. He was wearing a mask, that covered everything neck-up to his cheekbones. His body language was _trying_ to express his discomfort at being wedged in a corner, while his eyes expressed _intrigue_ with Steve. Steve noticed a few seconds later the figure in the corner is a _demon_ , if the cat-like ears atop his head and the tail slowly swaying behind him was any indication. Steve met the demon's gaze as calmly as he could, observing as the beast tilted his head backwards to look down upon him. The demon was reaching their left hand into their pocket, pulling out a vial. It was filled with a rich maroon color, the liquid glowing faintly. There were specks of dark blue floating inside like gold flakes. The demon approached him, his every step silent. The movements were too smooth for Steve to believe possible. The way the demon walked had a certain sway, eyes never leaving the blond. He held out the vial for Steve to take, no emotions within those stormy gray orbs of his.

"You said you wanted a blood sample from me." The demon's voice was low, rich, and so _sensual_ even if it was muffled by the mask. Steve took the vial from the demon with caution, before becoming completely entranced by it. He held it closer to his face, squinting at the liquid. The dark blue specks were like anomalies, accompanied by miniscule, near microscoptic strands of green mixed into the maroon liquid. The demon's blood was _begging_ to be analysed. Steve's gaze flickered up to the demon, who had been watching his every movement, expression, and reaction like a hawk. Steve was going to voice his _thanks_ to the demon, until he remembered who he was talking to. The gap that had been in his memories over recent events filled itself, the term 'demon' being replaced by a name.

"Thanks, Buck. I.. uh.. sorry if I triggered some bad flashback or something." Steve's tone was practically dripping with his apology, the words too thick to be stirred. Bucky looked surprised Steve had remembered him, leaning down and tilting his head. His eyes burned through Steve, the heat of his gaze sending shivers down Steve's spine. Steve placed the vial in this lap, swallowing thickly as he stared at the demon's throat. The collar of Bucky's shirt was pulled down an inch or so by his movements, exposing the marred flesh. It was reddened with irritation, likely from Bucky trying to remove the mask. There was a scab that resembled a claw mark on Bucky's throat, like something had tried to dig their claws into him quite literally. Steve tore his gaze away from the exposed skin, looking back up into Bucky's eyes. Steve watched for any change in Bucky's expression as he cupped his cheeks, running his thumbs over the leather of the mask. The thin layer of ice melted underneath Steve's fingertips, little clear drops of liquid rolling off the mask. Steve took a deep breath as he pulled the mask off Bucky's face, the enchantment not resisting him as it had for the demon. Steve pulled away slowly, holding the mask close to his chest. Bucky sniffed the air a few times, finally catching a whiff of Steve's scent. He leaned forward, steadying himself by pressing his hands into Steve's thighs. He inhaled the blond's scent as deeply as he could, eyes fluttering shut. Bucky's euphoria was short lasted, broken when Steve brushed his fingers along the demon's jaw. Those blue orbs called Bucky to come closer, the demon pushing himself onto the bed. Steve put the vial and the mask down on the sheets beside him absentmindedly, patting the bed a few times to make sure he wouldn't drop them on the floor. Bucky had crawled onto Steve's lap, hands placed on the blond's shoulders as he set his weight into place. The demon is a lot heavier than he looks, and Steve knew he should have felt breathless from the added weight. The bed creaked, the bedframe groaned under the pressure. Bucky placed a kiss to Steve's forehead, his hands moving to the blond's neck. The pulse drumming under his fingertips soothed him. Bucky had closed his eyes, not looking at Steve.

"Thank you." The way Bucky dreamily whispered to Steve, the blond registered it likely wasn't for removing the mask.

"Uh, yeah. Don't know why they would put it on you in the first-" Steve tried to force the words out, only to be interrupted when Bucky covered his mouth with his right hand. The demon shook his head, eyes fluttering open. Those storm gray orbs were glassed over, rain threatening to fall.

"Not for that. For... saying... I... I'm... y-you... you said I'm not a monster. Thank you." Bucky sounded sincere and doubtful at the same time, the sentence _'I am a monster.'_ lingering on his tongue. Steve blinked slowly, taking in the demon's words. Something deep in his chest ached at Bucky's inability to see himself for who he was, and still is.

"I meant it, you know. And I'm sorry, for what I said. I didn't mean have anything I said after that, too." If Steve could sound any guiltier than he already did, he certainly felt like he was. Remorse for his own actions, pain lingering in his chest. _Those words were the action that hurt the most._ That brewing storm in Bucky's eyes finally attacked, the rain from those clouds rolling down his cheeks. Bucky looked like he wanted to leave, push himself away from Steve, and run out the door. Steve couldn't blame him for wanting to leave, yet was surprised when the demon stayed, to his own dismay. He was shaking his head, dark brown locks of hair sticking to his cheek.

"We both know that's a _lie_ , Steve. All of that. All of _this_. You can _believe_ what you want to belive, and then you're going to run. Find what I'm made of and you'll be _gone_. You already are. You aren't happy with me- you don't even want me around. Who the fuck are you trying to joke with, Steve?" Bucky's broken voice had gradually morphed to anger, his tears still falling one after another.

"Stop _pretending_ , Steve. You're just keeping me around to put the pieces together. To _remember_. I don't mean anything." Steve had dodged the demon's gaze, rather staring at his chest. Tight, bound leather constricting his chest. Underneath all that, was just another broken body with scars hidden by illusions the demon would use. Bucky didn't want Steve to see what he was, Steve knew this. Sighing as quietly as he could, Steve placed one hand on Bucky's hips to steady the demon, and another on his chest. Underneath all that leather, his palm would be over the demon's heart. Bucky relaxed from his touch, but his facial expression was still one of betrayal.

"I know. And neither do I." A little whisper of agreement, that's all Steve could supply the demon with. Bucky shook his head, removing his hands from Steve to wipe his face. He had already stopped crying, shutting himself from the outside world all over again. He sniffled just as he met Steve's gaze, so many emotions burning in those orbs.

"You... are everything to _me_ , so you're not _nothing_." Bucky clarified, raising his head look down on Steve. He already was able to from sitting in the blond's lap, pulling the two closer together. Steve's cheeks with dusted with a blush, pale skin reddening. His cheek was pressed against the demon's chest, Steve feeling slightly squished.

"Let's stop with the games already, Steve. Why did you let me stay?" Bucky rubbed soothing circles on Steve's back. The gesture was calming, however Bucky's words were not. The demons that craved knowledge deep within his mind were fought by the horrifying monsters within his heart, emotion winning this round. Steve shimmied out of Bucky's grasp only by a fraction, looking up at the demon. He met Bucky's gaze, those blood-shot, stormy gray eyes brimming with curiosity. Steve wanted answers just the same as Bucky did, if not more.

"I... there.. it's... complicated. I... you're... you're _familiar_ , I know you. While everything prior to... I don't know _what_ , I just woke up in this room one day with no memories. I get sent to Natasha, and kept in her and Clint's care for a year or so. In the meantime I got a PhD in demonology, and a teaching license. When you were _there_ , after I studied for far too goddamn long, it was like someone just pulled me underwater to watch me drown. What was holding me down was not _knowing_ what I was feeling when I saw you. Everything hurt, watching you be in _pain_... it... _fuck_ , that hurt like hell. My heart's clearly saying _'Hey, I know him!'_ and I'm falling in love with a stranger. The logical side of my brain is saying _'a person from our past, maybe they can help us remember things'_ and saying I should let you stay. But another logical side is saying I don't know you, I don't know anyone or anything. Dwelling on the past is... it could lead to.. _something_ that might..." Bucky listened to Steve's elaboration as intently as he could, hugging the blond as tightly as he could. Steve grew quieter and less confident with every word, ended with an unfinished sentence that didn't have the grace to finish. Bucky hummed in thought, Steve's hair tickling his chin. Steve melted into the embrace, hugging the demon.

"So... you want to know what you're feeling, without learning too much about the past?" Bucky summarized Steve's words, earning a nod from the blond. Bucky didn't give Steve a chance to respond, rather cupping the blond's cheek to pull him for a kiss.

"You're Steven Grant Rogers, the man I fell in love with at fourteen. We're also childhood friends, we've fought in a war together, and it turns out you'd been practically worshipping me since I was your only friend. But aside from that, _gods_ you were head over heels for me. It may have been viewed as _wrong_ during the times we lived in, but neither of us gave two shits. Kept our relationship a secret, 'cept when it came to your ma. Told her everythin'. You finally being open about loving someone- who loved you just as much, hell that was the best thing she'd ever heard. So if you're _curious_ , proffessor, you're reacting to the released chemicals in your brain that create that silly little feeling called _love_. And it's for me. Surprise?" Steve scoffed, buring his face in Bucky's chest to hide his own embarrassment.

"Any other day I'd tell you to get out with your nonsense, but from the way being around you feels... it... yeah, I don't doubt that." Steve murmured the words against the demon's chest, nostrils assaulted by the scent of cured leather. Steve could feel the rippling muscles underneath the vest everytime Bucky shifted him in his arms. Steve was encased by the demon's warmth, even if he had shown control over ice magic. Steve furrowed his eyebrows, loosely keeping his hands on Bucky's hips. The demon generally felt _cold_. Lifting his head from Bucky's chest, Steve tried to understand the demon's expression. Bucky wasn't showing much emotion, except the blazing intensity burning in his gray orbs. A flickering beacon of light, shining dimly amongst the darkness. Questions floated in Steve's mind, pieces of driftwood being swept along the shores. He opened his mouth to speak, get just _one_ of those questions of his mind, and found nothing but silent queries. A few seconds later, he was able to form something.

"What was it like?" It was simple, really. The easiest thing Steve could pull from the swarming depths of his mind, underneath all of those hurtful, personal questions. _This_ , was the calmest query he could manage. Drawn by an uncanny amount of interest, Steve was captivated by the way Bucky's eyes fluttered shut, the demon humming in thought. Bucky tilted his head to the side by a fraction of an amount, his hair cascading over his shoulder. Bucky's hands paused rubbing circles on Steve's back, fingers lingering on his spine for a few seconds before returning to traveling up and down the muscles of Steve's back. Steve waited with held breath for Bucky's response, blue orbs focusing on every subtle change of the demon's expression. A riptide of emotions washed over Bucky, _anger, fear, regret, disgust,_ and finally _remorse_. The changes left as quickly as they came, Bucky's face returning to a passive, default expression. His eyes opened the moment he spoke, gray gaze sweeping over Steve.

"It was interesting, to say the least." Steve scrunched his nose up at Bucky's long-awaited answer, nothing but disappointment flowing through his veins. He felt disappointed in Bucky's answer, and he felt disappointed in himself for expecting more. Steve relaxed when he felt the ghost of the demon's lips touch his eyes, Bucky lightly pressing a kiss to each. When Steve opened his eyes, he saw Bucky regarding him with curiosity. That half-lidded gaze that spoke everything yet nothing at the same time, all Steve could rely on was the formed bond between them. It hummed with mutual understanding- Bucky's answer was a disappointment to himself as well.

"I know what you meant; I want to tell you everything, but I can't." Bucky's eyes flashed with something Steve couldn't place his finger on, but he could tell when the look converted into a thousand-yard stare. Without giving Steve a chance to reply, one of Bucky's hands left the blond's back to gesture to a camera in a top right corner of the room. Right above the window, angled at the door. Steve's vision followed to the camera, grimacing when he saw the little red light blinking above the lens. They were _recording_ him.

"Why the hell do they have to record me?" Steve pushed away from Bucky, narrowing his eyes at the device that continued to blink defiantly. Bucky slowly left his lap, settling for sitting on the bed by his feet.

"You're dangerous." Bucky's words lacked their usual heat when describing Steve, his tone rather honeyed. He was summarizing, and being blunt about it.

"What's so dangerous about me? I'm nothing but a proffessor. I teach things. Sure, I can be dangerous to demons, but that's about it." Bucky's body language subtly changed from Steve's words, his aggravation flowing with every word. Bucky turned slightly to face Steve, eyes glazed over in contemplation.

"I could show you." Bucky slowly spoke and emphasized on each word, hoping to catch Steve's interest. When the blond tore his gaze from the camera to the demon's features, he knew he had piqued the blond's curiosity. The way Steve's blue orbs shone already said the question he wished to have answers for. _'How?'_ With a deep sigh, Bucky pointed to his head. Wisps of ethereal magic spun around his fingertips, a silvery, translucent light. There was a pull on Steve's subconscious, memories threatening to spill forth.

"But you have to go to sleep. After what happened... a few days before, I'm not taking the risk of you shutting down like that again." Steve nodded at this, eyes still glued to the energy swirling around Bucky's fingers. Steve's brain hadn't registered the demon was moving closer until he was pressed against the bedsheets, Bucky sitting in his lap. One hand was placed on his chest, keeping him down. The demon's left hand was still encased in energy, even as his fingers ghosted over Steve's eyes. Within seconds, the blond was captured by the dark tendrils of sleep, yet a vivid image played in his mind.

 **oOo**

 _It was a dimly lit museum, with the attractions having spotlights shone on them. A grandiose painted mural seemed to be a major attraction, with hundreds of people passing by to take photos on their cellphones, or even high-quality cameras. Steve recognized two of the people on the mural- Bucky, and himself. The others were a fading, distant memory. Steve barely registered that they were in a thinning veil between dimensions- unseen to the human eye, but to a trained demon, they were clearly visible. Steve turned to Bucky, colors of surprise painted on his face. The demon was staring at the mural of himself, looking forlorn and lost all at once._

 _"I'm tired of secrets. I know... I know that neither of us wants to dwell on the past, remember anything... but, you have to know some things." Bucky didn't look to Steve, yet his words hung in the air, heavy and thick with emotion._

 _"I won't say... or show, too much. I promise." Bucky does finally look at Steve, tearing his gaze away from the mural almost painfully, in a lingering sense._

 _"Buck..." Steve began, but was cut off before he could say anything else when the demon shook his head._

 _"It's important. It.. we're... you... you're important. This... this is important too." Bucky tugged on Steve's wrist, pulling him away from the mural. The blond followed compliantly, letting Bucky lead him to a glass monument. A white image of Steve was on it, along with writing on to the side. Bucky gestured to it with his free hand, attention already elsewhere and ready to drag Steve over to the next monument. Steve read the words slowly, carefully. 'Captain America'... that part sounded just as important as every detail before and after it, but stood out painstakingly against everything else. Steve glanced to Bucky momentarily, noticing those glowing gray orbs were focused on him, a silent query to move on. Giving the demon a nod, Steve was just as silent with the way he walked as Bucky was. Steve cringed on an instinctual level when he saw a short-haired version of Bucky, white on glass just like Steve's monument was. Warning signals flashed in the blond's mind, a flurry of images coming to the surface. Ghostly lingering feelings over his skin, of cold pale lips on his shoulder. A mumbling, confused mess of words from those lips, the horror and trauma that had reflected in them. How perfectly he once fit into the brunet's arms, and how the brunet now perfectly fit into his. Steve was thrown off by this, not reading the words at all. He simply stared, mouth open in shock. His mind and his words seemed to work on their own, Steve not truly comprehending what he was saying._

 _"Sergeant James Barnes, the 107th. Shipping out for England, first thing tomorrow." Steve parroted Bucky's tone from so many, many years ago. Faking his excitement, rather fear and anxiety underlacing the tone._

 _"You... remember that?" Bucky's eyes lit up with curiosity, his attention redirected from the monument of himself to Steve. The blond slowly turned to him, expression as bland and lifeless as he felt._

 _"Yeah... You kicked some guy in the ass, literally, and then... some... conversation. You looked scared for a few seconds, but clicked your heels together and looked like a little kid on Christmas day. Looking back on it from a different perspective... it looks like you were trying to be everything I wanted to be, even if you were... terrified." Bucky gave Steve a small hum as a response, bringing the blond's wrist to his lips. He left a lingering kiss there, brushing his lips against Steve's pulse only momentarily. Steve tried to ignore the way his heart fluttered in his chest at the demon's actions, but only found himself spiraling further into the darkness that threatened to consume him. Memories were unimportant, unnecessary. When Bucky's gaze finaly met Steve's, it was full of nothing for adoration for Steve. Not the person he was before, not the icon he was before... it's for the person he is, now._

 _"I think I was... the most horrified in my life when I saw your expression as I fell from the train. I wasn't scared of dying, I was..." Bucky removed Steve's wrist from his lips, rather tracing his palm with a thumb. He stard at it comtemplatively, wracking his mind to put words together._

 _"I was scared of what it'd do to you. But... what was going through my mind... 'Thank god it's me and not you.' I guess I was... selfish? You still meant more to me, even when I supposedly 'died'. Hell, not even seventy years of torture, brain-washing, and literally hell could stop me from thinking about you." The demon's confession through Steve off-guard, his heartbeat drumming against his ribcage as painfully as the day Steve had 'met' the demon in his dreams. Every influenced memory was beginning to return to him, little pieces put back together easier, and less painful than Natasha's treatments ever could._

 _"I... shit. If I could survive crashing a plane into ice... I coulda... I coulda... survived jumping after you." Steve's tone was full of his guilt and his regret, eyes fluttering shut as tears threatened to surface. He didn't want to appear weak, not now. Bucky looked up from Steve's palm, interlacing their fingers together as a distraction for the both of them._

 _"No. Your body may have... carried on, but your mind wouldn't. You wouldn't be- I... I can't ever, ever fuckin' let you go through what I went through. Being twisted, manipulated- changed. They fucked errythin' over, from my DNA to my mind- my personality, who and what I was, and who I am. That can't happen to you." The demon's tone started off strong, demanding, in denial, yet died down to mindless pleading. Their hearts ache in tune with another at the thought of the other suffering, the way the both of them have._

 _"I wish it was me who fell from that train." Steve blurted out the words without thought, his guilty, remorseful gaze attracted to the old black and white videos from the war. Bucky smiling- laughing at something that had been said. He looked so... beautiful, even without color. Steve could feel the demon's heated, almost frightened stare burning onto his skin. The chatter of people of the museum faded into the background, the two of them slowly being pulled back into their own dimension._

 _"Why?" The demon tilted his head, an eloquent query all he managed to form. Steve forced himself to look back at Bucky, finding not anger, or even sadness in the demon's eyes. Only curiosity._

 _"The fall wouldn't have hurt me as much as it would you. Sure, a few broken bones, temporary paralysis, that's about it. In a few hours everything would be back in place, like it never happened. I could just get up, and walk home. And you wouldn't have had to endure what you did." Steve's words rang honestly, an unpleasant drum in their ears. The two of them continued to fade away, along with the surroundings. They were left in a black void for who knows how long._

 **oOo**

When Steve's eyes snapped open, he woke up all together with a sharp intake of breath. His heart beat fast in his chest, his lungs screamed for air. Bucky's hand was still pressed to his chest, the demon's eyes glowing in the dimming light of the room. He looked in pain, but also like he was deep in thought. The expression confused Steve minimally, however the blond chose to ignore the feeling. There was an ache deep in his bones, only soothed when Bucky leaned down to press a kiss to his lips. Whatever words Bucky had chosen to tuck away for the time being taunted Steve, answers and questions he might never hear. The demon's silence was short lived, however.

"No, you wouldn't. Hydra had been trackin' me a long time before I became their experimental pet. I wasn't a pure human, I had demon blood in my veins the day I was born. Not that much, but enough to deter human diseases and have more strength than I should have." Bucky's words were full of confirmation, assessing his own thoughts before they were even registered to Steve.

"Wh-what..?" Came the blond's eloquent reply. Bucky chuckled and said nothing else, only pressing kisses along Steve's jawline. He sighed against the smooth flesh, fingers kneading the blond's thighs. It felt nice... soothing almost. Bucky's ears twitched atop his head, one pointed in the direction of the door, the other tilting downward to focus on nothing but _Steve_.

"So... Captain 'murica, huh?" Steve spoke primly, raising his head to act proud of the statement, but also to give the demon more access to his flesh. Neither of them had enough tastes of the other, the dying embers slowly flickering to life. The metaphorical flames licked at their flesh, heat surging between the two. Bucky's gaze was content, his guard being let down as he pressed himself as close as possible to Steve. Steve didn't really know what he was doing, what _they_ were doing, yet everything from the moment he said _'Till the end of the line'_ to the demon had felt _right_. Every little touch, banter, and shared moment of bliss brought something to life in his veins. Steve managed a small sigh as a tongue flicked against his collarbone, as a hand pulled the collar of his shirt down. Bucky hummed against him, teeth pricking his skin to draw small ruby beads of blood.

"I can be a very _sassy_ side-kick. But ya call me one an' ya will have my foot up yer ass." The demon mused playfully, biting down as roughly as he could on Steve's collarbone. Steve could barely feel any pain at all.

"I would rather have something else up there." Steve watched with amusement as Bucky's cheeks turned fifty shades of red, his eyes widening to add to the expression. Both of the snowy-colored ears atop his head perked upwards, tail waving through the air and brushing against Steve's legs from time to time. Bucky looked like he was geninuely considering it.

"...'kay." Bucky growled out the word lowly, shifting on Steve's lap. Whatever soft, pleasureable intimacy between them quickly dissipated, replaced by the demon's sudden growing arousal. He seemed to _really_ appreciate that idea, and likely wanted to act on it. _Shit_ , Steve's thoughts turned as dirty as Bucky's had.

"N-not _now_." He stuttered with a small voice, shoving down the thoughts of things turned around for once. Bucky let out a small huff, wiggling in disappointment.

"But... _eventually_.." More of a statement, rather than a question. Steve resisted the urge to roll his eyes, rather smirking at the demon's uncontained excitement.

" _Maaaaaybe_." He drawled out the word, smirk turning into a full-blown grin by the time he finished. Bucky retracted his fangs from Steve's skin, offering the blond a form of relief.

"That'd be... _fun_." The demon breathed out the words dreamily, sitting up as he did so. Steve took notice the way his ears were discreetly angled towards the door, presumably _listening_. Steve rose a few seconds afterwards, Bucky pressing to his chest almost protectively. The demon was trying, and failing, to act naturally. He was staring at the door, ears flattening slightly yet still attentive. Tail thrashing against the bed in irritation, and a low, rumbling growl building in his chest. The demon's claws were tearing into the fabric of Steve's shirt, fingers curling against his chest. He was pushing him away, yet pulling him closer at the same time. It was confusing and endearing all at once. Bucky pulled his lips back in a snarl the second the door opened, a low and guttural growl rising from his throat. Steve spared the man in the doorway a sideways glance, hands resting on Bucky's hips. The brunet remained tense, even under Steve's touch. He voiced his dislike for the blond man in the doorway quite _clearly_ , only quieting when Steve shushed him.

"Secretary Pierce, _pleasure_ to meet you... _both_." Pierce's words were honeyed, dripping with a too prideful tone. Like the demon angry at his pressence was amusing.

"Captain... and... _Winter Soldier_." Bucky only tensed further, his entire body going rigid as he was silented from Pierce's words. The tone at the end seemed to scare Bucky by an unimaginable amount, and the demon barely registered himself clinging to Steve. Steve was dislikin- _no_ , he was hating the way Bucky was reacting to the Secretary. He wrapped his arms securely around the demon, providing him with a small safe haven.

"I'm here to escort you both to the debriefing room." The man continued in that odd, primly tone. Bucky practically melted into Steve, glaring at the Secretary through his dark bangs. His cheek was pressed to Steve's chest, the vibrations from every heartbeat his only reminder that Pierce couldn't do anything to him... _yet_. The thought alone sickened him, his stomach clenching in an unsettling way. Steve barely made a sound as he scooped Bucky up into his arms, the demon wrapping his legs around his waist. Steve followed the Secretary out of the room, expression dark with a burning, unknown anger for the man. It could have warmed the demon if he wasn't so terrified.

 **oOo**

Steve let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding when Pierce held open the door into the debriefing room, but didn't follow them in afterwards. Bucky shakily left Steve's arms, feeling less anxious and disturbed now that the man was out of sight. He shoved his hands into his pockets, ignoring Steve as much as he could. Multiple sets of eyes were on them, mostly on Steve. Bucky knew all of the people in the room, he'd met them before, if it could even be called that. More like... _introduced_ , when he was chained and locked in a cell while his mentality was being checked for any more bloodlust. He could name each and every one of them, just off the tip of his tongue. _Tony Stark_. _Natasha Romanova_. _Clint Barton_. _Bruce Banner_. _Nick Fury_. _Maria Hill_. _Pietro_ and _Wanda Maximoff_. Some of them had their eyes glued to Steve, each little pairs of orbs glowing with amazement. Steve shifted awkwardly under the gazes, yet reluctantly met Fury's. The man gestured to the seat next to Natasha, no expression readable on his face. Bucky did not like that. He _hated_ it.

"Take a seat next to Agent Romanova, Rogers." Fury had an indirect, commanding and proffessional tone. Steve followed the order mechanically, the way the words were spoken causing something in him to comply without question. Bucky let out a low growl, quiet enough for none other than Natasha to hear. She peered over her shoulder to give him a wicked, fanged grin. Her lips as bright red as her hair, an eye-catching and deeply aggravating color. Bucky bared his fangs at her, the demoness barely batting an eye as she turned away. Bucky calmed, if only by a marginal amount, when Wanda turned to look at him with as much discretion as she could muster. She felt geniune concern for the demon, rivaling the amount Steve felt at that moment.

"Now that everyone important is present, let's begin on the topic of your _breakdown_ and how your _demon_ went rampant three days ago." Fury stated the assessment clearly, in that annoying, high tone of his. He made the decision that Bucky was to be ignored, and everyone except Wanda did so. She didn't even look at the Director, only at Bucky. Her eyes flashed red, pulling the demon's attention to her. _Pity_ is what she had to offer him, and Bucky would have accepted the gesture if he didn't feel so empty and lost at that moment. Steve hadn't turned to even look at him once, every once of warm, comfortable feelings drowned by his _need_ to _obey_ orders. It made the demon sick to his stomach.

"By all means, _sir_ , I was fired at from at least fifty feet away, by a trained sniper with a very clear mission. The 'rampant' demon you so _kindly_ announce as was the only person capable of saving my life at that moment." So formal, so _defiant_ , the way Steve spoke sent shivers down Bucky's spine. The blond raised his head at the Director, challenging his stare. He had his elbows on the table, fingers interlacing under his chin. Fury made no change in expression, body language, _anything_. He was as dull and boring, yet dangerous and respected as Bucky could remember.

"He injured over thirty students, had injured seventeen proffessors, and slain three-hundred ninety-two demons." Fury clarified with a matter-of-facts tone, of which all of Bucky hated. Steve lowered his head, chin resting on his knuckles. He hadn't broken the staring contest with the Director, rather his gaze gained an unnatural amount of heat to it.

"Was this before or after you failed to subdue him and the other demons on the premises?" Steve replied all too casually, yet his expression remained tense, unwavering. Fury didn't disclose anything, but Natasha leaned over to Steve and whispered something in his ear. Bucky didn't understand the language, it clearly wasn't _English_ , and it wasn't _Russian_ , either. Steve nodded briefly in her direction, the red-headed demoness leaning away, sinking back into her seat. Bucky could hardly contain the quiet growl that managed to escape him, and he could _smell_ the amusement permeating the air. It drafted from Natasha specifically, assaulting his nostrils until he felt like he'd be sick. Steve redirected his attention to Fury, just as Natasha did. They acted like the neither of them had even spoke, as quietly as it had been. Jealousy flourished in Bucky's veins, his blood cooling and feeling like ice. His body felt cooler, and the room dropped several degrees. His jealousy and anger was slowly manifesting itself, ice beginning to appear on the walls, creeping closer and closer to the group seated at the table. A few of them seemed to notice the shift, while _all_ of them tried to ignore it. Wanda had turned to look back at him, concern lacing her features. The sight she was met with was unsettling- the demon was radiating pure, unbridled rage.

"Both, before and after. They broke free when he went on a second rampage, intent on laying waste to the other demons. It's unclear whether he had been _triggered_ , like he's possible to be controlled, or rather it was simply an instinctual slaughter." Fury held his tone, his gaze, and his posture. The demon's quickening changes were completely ignored, since there were already offensive and defensive measures in place, waiting for the moment the demon snaps. Bucky tried to remain collectively calm, as far as he could muster. The only reason he hadn't snapped every neck in the room was Steve's scent- it was grounding him, reminding him to be patient, and simply wait. Natasha shifted in her seat, noticing how Bucky was slowly steadying himself, pushing down his instincts and his emotions. All it took was a simple inhale of Steve's dreadfully intoxicating scent, and his muscles went lax and he slumped against the wall. He still watched the group with a predatory gaze, mainly directed on Fury, Natasha, and Tony. Tony would glance to Steve every so often, and it was quite obvious he _desired_ what was _Bucky's_. The demon growled again, loud enough for everyone to hear. A few heads turned his way, mainly Tony, Natasha, and Clint. Wanda tried to ignore him as much as possible, rather focusing on conversing with her brother. When their attention had been redirected to Fury once again, Bucky relaxed, only slightly. Steve's words hit him, ironically, like a freight train. The demon was shaking against the wall, fingers pressing into the smooth surface strong enough to leave dents.

"If you're incapable of controllin' a single demon that caused _hundreds_ of others to go into a frenzy, you're clearly unworthy of the title and position you hold for the government agency and the academy itself, not only endangering your secrets but also your students." Steve's words were smooth, yet challenging. He hadn't backed down once since he had woken from his dreamwalking, and had no intention of stopping now. Bucky watched intently as Tony shifted in his seat, eyes trained and focused. It was a brief, if almost insignificant reminder that Tony was a proffessor at the academy as well. He remained quiet, indecisive. The subtle changes in the man's expressions would have intrigued Bucky, however today _nothing_ did. His blood already boiled in his veins, he'd been pushed too far over the edge. _Pierce_ was there. A previous handler, before he had escaped when he had caught the smallest trace of information of Steve. It had been enough to give the demon hope, something he had desperately lacked in the past seventy years. Bucky could still smell Pierce's lingering scent from the door, which he wished he could retreat from. _Steve_ , he wanted to be buried in that scent that the blond produced. It was soft, warm, comfortable. An underlying tone of _danger_ , which screamed from every movement of Steve's body. Bucky was inexplicably drawn to the blond, the bond between them throbbing at one another's unease. Steve shifted ever so slightly under Bucky's stare, the glowing gray orbs becoming worried with every second that passed.

"I'll have you know, _Rogers_ , that all of this _mess_ , was unintended, unexplained, and unexpected. Security is tight, there are many protocols and background checks that must be done to even step foot on the property. There was a _rogue agent_ lurking about, and whatever _you_ did- whatever you _said_ to Barnes which caused him to snap will be on you. Every wound, death, and amount of damage he caused will be placed on you." Fury let the weight of his words settle in the thick atmosphere, Tony almost rising in his seat to protest.

"He- didn't do _anything_ , to make that _uncontrollable_ monster act. Whatever you _heard_ is wrong, Steve wouldn't side with a _demon_ , or even interact with one to cause it to go on a murderous _rampage_!" Tony's voice steadily rose with every word, until he was nearly shouting at Fury. Steve knew Bucky was probably retreating into his own shadows at every word, curling in on himself. The blond was correct, and Bucky had to use every ounce of his will to not _run_. He needed to escape, to get away. A monster shouldn't be in the same room with... _heroes_.

"He's not a monster, Stark." The tension in the room quickly flipped to confusion as Natasha's voice cut through the silence following Tony's outburst. A dim light of hope flickered in Steve and Bucky's chests, both of them wondering where she'd go with this. Tony gave Natasha a heated glare, _daring_ her to press on. Correct him, give proof.

"Do you not even _know_ what he was doing? How demon hierarchy even functions? Someone- _something_ threatened Steve's life, so he panicked. I could smell it from even the other side of the campus. Almost all of the demons, save for the calm and collected ones, would be driven to primal instincts to try and fight him, establish their dominance over him. He was the strongest demon on campus- _aside_ from _myself_. I could easily crush him into the ground, and have more of a human mentality to react to those pheromones. _However_ , the other demons are not a high enough _class_ to not try to take him down. So he was simply defending himself- _and_ Steve." Natasha's tone finally had emotion slipping into it, something akin to disgust but at the same time, akin to fondness. She sounded smug at the thought of _crushing_ Bucky, but reverted to a placid voice quickly afterwards. Bucky pushed himself off the wall, treading silently over to the group. Natasha turned to look up at him, green eyes glowing with understanding. Bucky finally understood as well. The demoness had forgiven him for past actions- and rather had appreciated his gesture to protect Steve. It was _obvious_ she'd claimed the blond as hers, just as she had Clint. The two of them were the dragon's treasure. Bucky had protected that treasure. It meant a great deal- even more as Bucky recalled their past- and how they knew one another. The mission against her had been an unpleasant one. When Natasha looked away, Bucky was painfully aware of all the sets of eyes on him.

"If he was _defending_ against demons, why did he attack humans?" Bruce finally spoke, soft voice full of nothing but curiosity. There was no bite to his tone, no disgust or judgement. Child-like curiosity could be dangerous, but beautiful thing. Steve took a liking to him immediately, and both him and Tony reminiscented that Bruce was a proffessor at the academy, just like them. He was a _half-breed_ , however. When angered, he shifted into a demon. Nothing but uncanny, pure strength, followed by the rage that fuelled that strength. It was startling that someone so gentle could house something so brutal. Bucky's hands came up to brush along each side of Steve's neck, the blond relaxing marginally in the demon's touch.

"He broke down. They approached. Tried to ' _help_ '. It wasn't help." Bucky's tone was flat, his eyes glazed over. He looked lifeless, yet the steady beat of his heart and the occassional breath spoke otherwise. His grip on Steve's throat tightened, and it was clear the demon was making it known he could end the blond's life before any of them had the chance to react. While most of them went rigid at the notion, Steve and Natasha remained unfazed. Steve rather found the attention calming, humming when he felt the tug of a struggle to breathe finally coming to the surface. Bucky's grip eased only enough for him to inhale deeply through his nose, seconds later tight against him again. Steve's vision was speckled with bursts of color, his head feeling heavier and heavier ever passing second Bucky deprived him of oxygen. Steve hummed again when a claw dragged along his pulse, hyperaware of all of the attention directed on him. This was quite possibly the angriest Bucky had ever been, demanding attention like this and showing _who_ Steve _belonged_ to. It was also the end of the meeting. Neither Bucky nor Steve said anything else, the blond allowing himself to be dragged out of the room by the demon.

 **oOo**

Bucky was a flurry of heated, needy kisses, bites, scratches, and pulls by the time he'd managed to get Steve away from the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility. The demon had somehow managed to find Natasha's mansion in little time, unlocking the door with a major strain on his energy, but the magic was worth it. Steve didn't have his keys on him. The blond was barely through the door by the time Bucky was all over him, rubbing their cheeks together, pulling the blond into his chest, neck, and everywhere else visible on the demon in a desperate attempt to cover the scents lingering on Steve with his own. Steve barely had the chance to stop Bucky from practically crawling out of his clothes, holding the demon's wrists steady even when he struggled. Bucky _needed_ this, and Steve was denying him of it. He was nervous, anxious, frustrated, and undeniably guilty. He felt the emotions weighing him down, only to be wiped away when Steve cupped his cheeks with his hands. The blond's thumbs ran along Bucky's cheekbones, the bone structure standing out almost painfully. It looked sharp, striking. As curved and formed as his jawline. Steve pressed a kiss to the demon's nose, running his fingers up and down Bucky's neck. Bucky tensed for a few seconds, then all of him relaxed at once. Every wound coil in his spine sprung into relief, the pit of his stomach no longer feeling like stone. He felt safe again, in the dragon's den... Steve with him. Steve far away from S.H.I.E.L.D. and Pierce, who was _Hydra_. When Bucky opened his eyes again, he saw Steve's concerned stare, with underlying hints of confusion, adoration, and sorrow all intertwined into those delicate, beautiful blue orbs. Steve let go of Bucky, stepping backwards only once. It was an _option_ that Steve was giving Bucky, the option to leave. He didn't have to stay and do this- Bucky _knew_ this, but he also knew that Steve was all he had, and he'd never leave him behind ever again. Shaking his head once, it was all the confirmation Steve needed. Practically dragging the demon over to the closest piece of furniture, Steve took the demon all over again. Bucky felt warm, soft, so tight around him. When the demon's moans had escalated to a new level of sound, Steve thought he might get a headache. The headache went as quickly as it came, the blond drowning himself in the demon's body. He knew it was wrong, giving himself away like this. Logically. Emotionally, realistically, Bucky was his. The demon already made that part obvious, and it was something Steve enjoyed greatly. When he felt the familiar ache in his chest as the demon sapped the sexual energies from him, he held on as long as could, pulling multiple orgasms from the demon without becoming exhausted too quickly. Like he had said before... _love_ had a better reception than just unemotional sex. Making love to Bucky had never felt so natural to Steve, like it was what he was made to do. Clint wasn't going to know what happened to his chair.

 **oOo**

 _Three Weeks Later_

Bucky and Steve had fallen into a comfortable routine, the demon following Steve to the academy, leather attire clinging to his form in a flattering, presenting kind of way. Pride swelled in Steve's chest everytime someone would stare at Bucky with awe- their attraction for the demon not hidden in the slightest. Bucky didn't seem to mind, even if the attention was unwanted. He'd seduced a few of the students, too many curious minds and hearts drawn in by his unnatural sway with his every step. Steve couldn't help but admit that he enjoyed every moment with the demon, their bond growing stronger with every day that passed. Natasha as well, _seemed_ elated with how close they were becoming. Steve had made mental notes to question her on it, and only earned himself cryptic, mind-bending answers. He'd in short, found nothing. Bucky, on the other hand, knew Natasha's intentions. He'd quickly dispelled the dragon's darker side by presenting himself to her, to which the demoness took all too eagerly. Steve and Clint were almost _offended_ when the two had emerged from Natasha's bedroom, naked, bruised, and covered in scratches and bites. Steve had later discovered what they did, and had only felt betrayed for a few days before Bucky was a moaning, writhing mess underneath him. Not even Natasha could get Bucky to feel like this, and Steve used it as another pillar for his slowly growing ego. Another plus-side was that Bucky was slowly growing stronger, his energy not drained as quickly as it had been before. Steve had suspected that was also from Bucky becoming one of Natasha's ' _treasures_ ' as the two demons had called it. Neither Clint nor Steve had understood what that meant, until a few seconds later and it clicked in Steve's mind. An unmated, unwanted, lonely _dragon_ that was _hoarding_ males. Specifically, Steve and Clint for the past... who knows how long. She'd added Bucky to her collection, and stuck to calling him _Jamie_. Steve recoiled just at the thought of the nickname, sounding far too feminine for the... no, it wasn't too feminine. While Bucky may have appeared masculine in his body-type, he was far from acting like a man almost any given point during the day. He walked more like a Las Vegas stripper, hips swaying in an attractive manner that _dared_ to beckon forlorn, sex-driven, forlorn souls into his grasp. His tail would always sway with a motion that mirrored with the way he walked, most people finding the subconscious quirk of the demon _sensual_. Even when he wore the mask onto the campus, he still walked like a model. A far too _attractive_ and _horny_ model, for the most part. Steve had to call Natasha sometimes when Bucky would grind against his desk, already aching for _anything_ to soothe the demon's primal urges. Bucky had also ruined too many pairs of boxers for Steve to count. Natasha always teased the two of them about it, yet somehow seemed proud with how Bucky had reluctantly forced himself to not _touch_ Steve, or _himself_ , in public. That didn't mean he didn't get wet. _No_ , not at _all_. It was almost annoying, with how much Bucky's body decided to demand from the two after their bond was finally comfortable in it's place. Steve was tired all the time, Bucky was horny all the time, Natasha wanted to laugh at it all. She _offered_ too nicely to take the demon off Steve's hands, yet Steve felt no regret as he shooed the two off and proceeded to not see Bucky for an entire week. He was concerned, sometimes believing the demon wasn't even alive. If it weren't for the constant tugging, pulling, and clawing at his chest to signal the bond was still there, Steve wasn't sure what he would do _if_ Natasha _did_ kill Bucky. Not like he had the strength or resources to tell her otherwise, let alone try to stop her. Steve was all too eager to see the demon again, who after a week looked completely spent. He'd definitely... been... _actively_ engaging in _sexual activities_ the entire week. There were bruises on his hips, up and down his spine, his shoulders, his neck. Almost everywhere there was some mark left on him, and Steve felt guilty at letting Natasha take Bucky into her ' _care_ '. It was a nice turn of events when Bucky didn't get unbelievably wet near Steve for the next two weeks. Everything was nice, if Steve should put it that way. Until of course, he woke up to the sound of Bucky rustling in the sheets, trying to pull Steve's clothes as silently and gently as he could without jostling the blond awake. Steve tried to ignore the demon as much as he could, half-asleep even as the cold air hit him. He was slowly, surely falling back asleep until Bucky jumped on him, then and there. The demon let out a loud moan as he settled onto Steve, thighs nearly crushing the blond's hip. Bucky's desperation really, _really_ hurt sometimes.

"F-fuck, Buck." Steve groaned the two words in a slur, hastily as he tried to sit up. Bucky eased the pressure on him, allowing him to sit up. In a single motion, Bucky was clamped down on Steve all over again. Those glowing gray eyes hadn't left Steve, the light intesifying when Bucky finally registered Steve was awake. It took the demon everything he had to not come then and there. Bucky placed his hands on Steve's shoulder, trying to ignore the time on the clock on the nightstand. Four thirty-seven AM. Steve should be asleep, but here he was pressing kisses along Bucky's collarbone. It was annoying, but endearing at the same time for Steve to be so calm with being woken up when he should be _asleep_. Fortunately for the both of them, it was turning to Saturday so Steve would be free the entire day. Some part of Steve realized this, and he felt obliged to finally treat the demon to a _pleasant_ morning. Hands snaking to the demon's waist, Steve huffed as lifted Bucky up a few inches before the demon instinctively slammed himself back down onto the blond's length. A drawn-out, low growl vibrated in Bucky's chest, powerful and _demanding_. Bucky already made it clear he wanted Steve, and he wanted him _now_. Giving into the demon's wishes, Steve found a pace between the two of them that had Bucky a writhing, moaning mess against him. Between purrs, grunts, and moans, Bucky was mumbling incoherently. Steve liked it when Bucky purred the most, and felt inclined to teasing the demon on it. Bucky however, disliked it when another sign of his demonic alterations made themselves known, and tried to push down the habits the moment they slipped out. Bucky made an exception with purring, since it soothed Steve to sleep, and the blond especially liked it when Bucky purred during their cuddle sessions. Some part of his instincts remembered for him when his mind wasn't cooperating, as his moans died to loud, rumbling purrs. The tightly wound coil of tension mixed with pleasure finally snapped in the demon, and Bucky came with a low growl. The way Bucky tensed around Steve was beautifully painful and curious at once, the demon usually relaxed after his lustful drive had been sated. Bucky's long, drawn-out growl died after about a minute, his body slowly reeling from the shock. Steve made a mental note of Bucky's change in demeanor. A couple more thrusts into the tight, wet heat, and the encouraging purrs from the demon pulled Steve over his own metaphorical edge. Steve was expecting exhaustion to follow, yet nothing but surprise flooded him when Bucky didn't tap into his energy to fufill his own. The demon was barely conscious, purrs still echoing in the air. He laid his head on Steve's shoulder, blinking his drowsiness away. The demon was already brimming with energy, a swirling vortex of hues of red, light blue, dark blue, and lavender. Steve squinted and forced himself to tap into his own energy to see the demon's aura, which was exactly what Natasha had described. Bursts of color surrounded them, but Bucky was drowning out Steve, quite literally. The mass of dark blue intertwined with the light blue, almost completely overshadowing it. Bucky was clearly with-holding information Steve knew it'd be hopeless to chase, the blond sighing into long, wispy locks of brunet hair. Steve slowly laid back, bringing Bucky with him. He kept his arms wrapped around the demon, who showed no interest in moving. Steve pressed a tentative kiss to one of Bucky's ears, which twitched in slight annoyance. Steve smirked at the flick from Bucky's tail, a form of lazy response the demon was willing to provide. Steve wondered if Bucky had anything to say, curiosity peaking when the demon opened his mouth like he was going to speak, only to close it mere seconds afterwards and returning to purring loudly. Steve knew what Bucky was trying to do, and tried fighting the delicate lulls of sleep that were accompanied by the demon's purrs. Bucky let his lips linger on Steve's shoulder, lips parting to lick over the flesh he sucked on with the intention to bruise. Steve knew he'd regret letting the demon do it in the morning, then the vibrations pulsing through his entire body proved to be more effective than he thought.

"Sleep, _solntse_." Bucky murmured the words against Steve's flesh, readjusting until he felt more comfortable. The demon was practically draped over Steve, who didn't understand the second word the demon had spoken. It was a lost cause in his mind, as he followed suit to the demon's command almost instantly. Bucky shifted again, only to cover Steve with himself more than before. He kissed every inch of skin he found without moving too much, hands roaming up and down the blond's sides. He felt content as Steve was lulled deeper into sleep, relaxing underneath him. Bucky followed in suit shortly after, his purrs still vibrating between the two as he fell asleep.

 **oOo**

Bucky's sudden bout of _bitchiness_ was not what Steve was expecting the next morning. The demon refused to even _look_ at him. Steve had no clue what to do, and every time he _tried_ to give Bucky space, his attitude shifted too quickly for Steve's liking, going from _stay away_ to _don't leave me_. Steve had contemplated on going to Natasha for help, and eventually the logically part of his mind won. Leaving Bucky alone in his room, Steve sought Natasha out in her office faster than he had hoped. The demoness was already sparing him taunting glances, yet each and every one of them remained playful. When Steve sat down on the floor quickly, the world spun for a few seconds. Natasha followed suit, her movements fluid and slow.

"What's bothering you?" She began in a dry, unamused tone. Steve had the lingering doubt that Natasha wouldn't be able to supply him with an answer, yet pushed the feeling down with a thick swallow of his anxiety.

"Why the literal fuck is Bucky having mood swings? He turns into an ultra bitch one moment, a cuddly little annoying bastard the next." Steve's tone came out as aggravated as he felt, cheeks reddening as he expressed his anger through a small venting process. Natasha stared at him blankly for a few seconds, gaze darting to the ceiling, lingering there, then returning to Steve. She grinned smugly at him, baring her fangs as a few breathless chuckles escaped her blood red lips.

"You haven't noticed, have you?" Just as Steve _dreaded_ , Natasha was back to puzzles, replying to questions to queries just as confusing. She had an amused tone, however. Steve felt like whatever was wrong must have been common knowledge.

"Noticed what?" Came his eloquent, well-strung together reply. Natasha rolled her eyes at him, and Steve could have sworn he'd seen her eyes go to the back of her head momentarily. When her stare refocused itself on him, she gave him a knowing _look_. The slight bow of her head, the way her eyes narrowed at him by a fraction. Judging him for his lack of knowledge.

"Your bond." Her voice was thick, heavy with an accent Steve recognized she'd sometimes gain whenever speaking to him or Clint about something that should have been obvious to the two. It quite frankly, infuriated Steve by all means.

"What about it?" Steve managed the grit the words through clenched teeth, forcing his aggravation down as far as he could, which happened to not be very far. Natasha's posture shifted slightly, along with her facial expression. She found the entire situation amusing, and with another chuckle, she finally replied once again.

"It's stronger now. You've both accepted it, in body, mind, and _soul_. His hormones are going to change drastically, because _as they say_ , succubi and incubi only have _one_ mate. The _one_ they chose, is the one they're stuck with for the rest of their lives. Even after that mate is long gone, they won't go out and find another." At first, Natasha's words made sense. Then suddenly, he found nothing but confusion. He understood the bond, and he knew that the over-stereotyped demons chose only _one_ mate. Steve also understood that Bucky did _not_ mark or claim him in any way that a _mate_ would. It only pushed his befuddlement to the edges, the expression finding it's way onto his features. Natasha rolled her eyes again, settling for dragging a hand down her cheek.

"He hasn't _bit_ you, _sure_ , but that's not the only way he can claim you. He claimed you the first night he was here." Steve perked up at this, not even noticing the blatant disappointment in Natasha's tone. Steve's eyebrows knitted together as he furiously tried to remember _how_ Bucky did so, and found no way what-so-ever. When he looked back up to her in question, her delicately crested eyebrows raised a fair amount.

"He was in heat." Natasha's voice no longer held disappointment, rather something more akin to disgust. If Steve had longer hair, his eyebrows would have jumped to his hairline. His eyes widened at her, mouth hanging open for a few seconds before he cringed visibly.

"What." Steve blinked dumbly at the words, mind grasping at straws until he was able to register the words. With a slow nod, he stood up with a forlorn expression on his face. He wasn't sure if Bucky was using him, or if he'd done it by accident. The demon appeared to be inexplicably drawn to Steve in every way, even if he was angry at him. Bucky wanted Steve all the time, discreetly trying to seduce the blond nearly every second of the day. Steve forced himself to leave Natasha's office, contemplative expression still painted on his face. Bucky was some feet away from the door, sniffing at him warily. Steve's emotions must have not been transmitted through the bonds clearly, if the demon was resorting to scenting him. Rather than _asking_ him what was wrong. Steve backed away, despite knowing it'd hurt the demon's feelings. Bucky only showed mild discomfort from Steve moving away him, and continued to sniff the air. When nothing but confusion remained on Bucky's features, he hummed, pivoting on his heels to leave Steve alone in the hallway. Steve let out a sigh of relief, which was short lived when Bucky returned a minute later to slap him.

"That felt better than I expected." Bucky hummed, satisfied with his results. The pleasant sting in his fingers, and the reddening mark on Steve's left cheek. Steve rolled his eyes as he shook his head, trying to ignore how _excited_ it had made Bucky.

 **oOo**

Monday morning, a day Steve sometimes dreaded. At the moment, Steve wanted nothing more than to sink into Bucky's embrace, warm, comforting and adrenaline-inducing all at once. It was a riptide of emotions that decided to rush over Steve which drove him to wake himself up. He pushed Bucky away as gently as he could, trying to not jostle the demon awake. It was a failed advance when Bucky's eyes snapped open, stormy gray orbs shining with aggravation. He didn't like to be moved, and with a sigh Steve muttered an apology. Crawling out of the bed, Steve made his way into the bathroom to take a quick, cold shower. He used hand-sanitizer a few times during the shower, intent on washing Bucky's scent off of him. It was becoming strong enough for even his _human_ nose to pick up on, which meant it was enough for Clint's nose, and practically everyone else's nose to pick up on. Steve didn't even _want_ to know what he smelt like to Natasha. With another sigh, he toweled himself dry when the lingering scent of something sweet, comforting, and homey was finally gone. Not bothering to pick up his pajamas as he left the bathroom, Steve steered himself in the direction of his drawers with nothing but a towel clinging loosely around his waist. Steve could feel Bucky's predatory gaze roaming up and down his figure, and he could also hear the demon sniffing the air. A low, instinctual tug on their bond indicated Bucky's displeasure of having himself washed off of Steve. The blond only managed to give out a groan at the added weight in his chest, which slowly eased itself when Bucky stood up. The demon was rather content to watch Steve, who hurried through his drawers to grab a button-up shirt, a suit blazer, a pair of pants, socks, cuff-links, and a tie. Steve haphazardly managed to get the clothes on in no time flat, wrinkles and creases everywhere. It gave Steve a disheveled, attractive look, even if it wasn't his style. Not that Steve _doesn't_ admit to being attractive, he simply dislikes having unkempt clothing. Creases, wrinkles, stains. He preferred things kept tidied, almost perfect for his own scrutinizing eyes. With a quick motion, he had the tie in place, nearly even when he turned to meet Bucky's still predatory gaze. The demon's eyes were glowing at this point, and from the weight returning in Steve's chest he knew it was anger... _hopefully_. Yes, Steve admitted to himself. He was hoping it was anger and not something else. Bucky raised an eyebrow at him, and Steve _sincerely_ hoped the most meager and unimportant of thoughts did not travel through their bond. The way Bucky's stare got under Steve's skin was almost too much, and he found himself blurting out words he shouldn't have.

"Did you know you were in heat when you first came here to find me?" Steve regretted the words the instant they left his mouth, blinking slowly as he raised his hands in defense. Bucky went completely rigid for a few seconds, every ounce of emotion draining from his face like his color. After too many seconds with abated breath, Bucky looked up to Steve with defiance shining in those gray orbs.

"Yes." Bucky shifted on his feet, already wearing the tight, sinfully delicious looking leather attire. Even if the only skin visible was his face, he suddenly felt too exposed. Steve's gaze dropped to the floor, heat spreading on his cheeks. When he had the confidence, while lacking, to meet Bucky's gaze, his heart was torn into too many directions to be mentally healthy.

"Well." Steve addresses him casually, eyebrows raising as he bit on his bottom lip. He didn't quite know what to say- aside from the fact there was no way he'd _ever_ be able to run away from Bucky.

"The fuck is that supposed to be?" Bucky pointed the words venomously at him, disliking Steve's reaction as much as he did. The blond shrugged, pressing his lips further together into a thin line. It's only a few seconds of sharp, unreadable demon until Bucky melts into sarcastic laughter.

"Ya ain't even mad 'bout it." Bucky's voice slurred into a thick Brooklynn accent, something in Steve stirring akin to arousal. Steve sighed as he shook his head, shrugging his shoulders at the same time. Bucky looked relieved, tension escaping his body as he dragged his hands down his face. When Bucky peeked out from his fingers, the glow from his gray orbs had dissipated. Bucky's hands dropped to his sides, ears twitching and begging to be touched. Steve reached out to rub his fingers over the unbelievably soft fur, massaging the demon's ears and taking comfort from the purrs he made. Bucky was _slowly_ beginning to appreciate affection more and more, becoming less distant. He was also becoming increasingly hornier. Steve was glad his body could handle it- ever since he woke up in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s care for the second time, he felt stronger, faster, and he healed quicker. It's like a light-switch was flicked on in Steve's biological clock, altering him in subtle, yet frightening ways. Bucky was slowly beginning to notice too, yet didn't seem deterred, scared, or even concerned. He was fine with Steve rediscovering his strength that he could so easily use to overpower the demon with.

 **oOo**

Steve didn't realize the extent to his rapidly growing accesses of strength until he managed to pick his automobile up to catch a very rude squirrel. It went unregistered to him for a few seconds, until he realized how weightless the vehicle felt in his palm. Slowly setting it back on the gravel, Steve made sure to have a light, nearly weightless grip on the squirrel. When he'd retrieved his keys from the rude, small furry creature, he set it on the grass and shooed it away. It was easy enough, as Bucky had walked down the drive and _growled_ at it. He gave Steve a triumphant smirk as the squirrel scurried to get away, rushing through the grass. A hand on his hip, another hovering a few inches away from his chest with the mask in hand. Steve scowled at the mask, the only good thing about it was that it prevented Bucky from throwing up from the onslaught of _too many_ scents at once. Steve was hoping the demon would get better, but after his rampage at the academy he had to wear it at all times once he stepped foot off Natasha's property. The two of them hated it. Steve still wanted to know if Bucky had gotten better, though. With a single nod towards the mask, Steve's interest piqued again.

"No. I still get sick." Bucky replies casually as he gives the mask a single glance, almost complying too easily. Steve knew Bucky hadn't gotten better at all.

"If anything, it's gotten worse." Bucky smiled almost sadly at the mask, eyes looking up to Steve in silent pleading. The blond walked over to him with heavy, unfocused steps. Putting the mask on Bucky felt like chaining him up almost everyday, but it was for other people's safety. Steve was glad though that none of the students in his class knew it was Bucky that had caused the destruction and death from three months before. With two sighs, one respectively muffled, the pair slipped into Steve's vehicle. The engine roared to life, the only familiar sound the two knew whenever they left Natasha's _mansion_. Bucky could hear Steve's heartbeat over the background noise, though. It was oddly comforting, like a drum beating steadily in Steve's chest. Bucky didn't pay attention to the woods-like scenery passing by shifting into a city, with strips and joints Bucky wanted to be a part of, because on instinctual level he knew it'd be easier to lure potential victims in from those shady areas. Another part of him recoiled from the tall buildings, his fear of heights settling as an uncomfortable weight in the pit of his stomach. Steve notices Bucky's discomfort through their bond, and glances over momentarily before focusing his gaze back on the road. It was enough for Bucky to distract him, at least. He still felt sick around the tall buildings, and was far too grateful when they were back into a heavily wooded forest. Tall trees surrounding them on nearly ever road, some even threatening to get on the way of the road. Bucky liked the tall, earthy-smelling pines. At least he did. When he had his _incident_ , he had received his mask with even more powerful scent-repressors than before. He can't even smell Steve, being in his car, with him less than a foot away. It terrified Bucky deep down, but also comforted him knowing he won't have to smell all of the students and demons in the academy.

 **oOo**

Bucky had become reluctant as of late to enter the academy, always on guard for another attempt on Steve's life. So far, there was nothing. He kept his ears listening for any small detail, even if they hurt greatly from all of the loud noise. Today, his tail didn't even sway behind him in excitemet to see the students in Steve's classes. He felt... _on edge_. Something was going to happen there, and Bucky could feel it deep down. On an instinctual level, he felt the urge to run. On a deeper, lower, and darker instinctual level, he wanted to seek out the source of the feeling, and sink his claws and fangs into anything- who or what it was unimportant. He kept his hands to himself, footfalls silent even with the thick, military-styled boots he wore. Steve kept casting him worried glances, the blond beginning to feel jittery with Bucky's unease. Bucky didn't show much change when it came to his emotions while at the academy, and Steve felt so helplessly lost. Their bond hummed with a mariad clash of the demon's emotions, mixing and intertwining with Steve's so delicately the blond couldn't figure who was feeling what. The slurred mantra of emotions seemed to be easier to distinguish for Bucky, who jogged a small distance to catch up with Steve. The demon offered a hand, to which Steve all too greedily took. Steve hoped with every fiber of his being no one saw that, how _wrong_ the two of them were together. With a huff, Steve dragged Bucky through the weaving crowd of students, teachers, and proffessors. Both with held breaths, the two of them hoped nothing would go wrong that day. The strong pulls at Bucky's instincts said otherwise, and the demon found himself hovering close to Steve, almost pressed up against the blond. When no one was looking, Steve would allow Bucky to scent him, cover up his protruding, clean scent. When it was finally time for the class to begin, the pair couldn't be more grateful. Steve switched into full-business mode, offering the first lesson of the day. Students were attentive as usual, some their attention more directed at _Bucky_ , rather than _Steve_. Wanda was no exception, tapping into the abilities she'd been practicing with ever since the demon had infiltrated her mind.

' _Are you okay?_ ' Wanda's small, nervous voice rang in Bucky's head, and he fought the urge to look in his direction. His mind was nothing but white noise, an annoying buzz as anxiety continued to thrum in his veins.

' _I'm not sure. I.. feel off. There's something going to happen here._ ' Bucky sounded as distressed as he felt, even through telepathy. Wanda gave a small wince in her seat, looking as apologetic as she could muster without drawing attention to herself. Bucky drowned out the words of Steve's morning lecture, something distracting about _Fae_ , something boring to Bucky in every way. He found it more interesting when Steve discussed the different sub-classes of demons' that had been forced into Bucky's veins. Wanda had showed no intention of returning any conversation, the brunette stiff in his seat. The rest of Steve's morning lecture passes in relative quiet, with only a handful of students asking questions or to use the restroom.

Over the passing of time in the morning, Bucky had only begun to feel more and more nervous, his skin prickling at every single thought eating at his mind. Sweat slowly rolled down his flesh, his breathing ragged and strained in the confines of the mask. It wasn't until he felt a wetness in his pants that Bucky knew what was wrong. His body had been working up a heat the entire time, which was mainly used for mating, breeding, or to get a large surge of energy. It typically took many partners to satisfy each and every need the incubus' body would demand, and Bucky never felt more lost than he would at that moment. He wasn't going to ask _Steve_ to help him, and he certainly wasn't going to risk anything. He needed to get away, but he needed to do it discreetly. If only that ache that was slowly beginning to flood through his system would stop long enough for him to think. He couldn't exactly think of an escape plan as his muscles tensed to force more slick out of his body. He knew with strong his scent was, the humans would be able to smell it too. Smell _him_. Whatever gods above were certainly playing a very _sick_ joke today. He could already sense the rising arousal from the majority of the students, only the shyer, and quieter ones not noticing much or being affected by it. Not that Bucky recalls, _no_ textbooks talks about _incubi_ going into heats. Only succubi. Bucky's nails dug into the cloth that strained against his thighs, trying to find a logical solution. All he could muster was something about the cat-like ears atop his head, and the tail thrashing violently him. Aside from his tail swaying in the air, Bucky remained as still as he could manage. Even in an entirely different world full of pain, he managed to hold in every whimper and sob until the day in the academy was finally _over_.

 **oOo**

The second the doors close in Steve's car is the same fraction of a second his head whips over in Bucky's direction so quickly they both think he'd get whiplash. In the confines of his car, Steve can _smell_ the distress rolling off the demon in thick, heavy waves. There's an underlying scent of need, _want_ , and desperation. Steve tries to ignore the demon's arousal and how his body pleaded for _everything_ all at once. Steve reached over to pull the mask of Bucky, the demon showing no resistance at all. He just pulled his legs to his chest in an effort to make himself as small as possible. Bucky just wanted Steve to start the car already and get _him_ far away, as far away from people as possible. Bucky screws his eyes as he _waits_ , hoping Steve won't be stubborn for once and just _take a hint_ for once. With a wince at his own movement, Bucky lifted his head to glare at Steve. The blond's gaze was reflected with nothing but confusion and _worry_ , something he shouldn't be doing. It was Bucky's _week_ to worry.

"Drive." Not a request, not a plea, but a _demand_. Bucky could only hope Steve wouldn't see through his tone and work more on Bucky's body language. The blond ignored what had been said, rather chewing the inside of his cheek as he continued to grate on the demon's nerves.

"What's wrong with you?" Steve tried to sound as calm as he could, voice wavering only slightly. Bucky would have felt warmed at the blond's concern for him if he wasn't already so mouth-wateringly _hot_.

"I.. 'm... fucked up biology. Kinda... function as a... succubus?" Bucky's eyebrows knitted together at his own words, a jarbled, low and scratchy mess. Steve's expression was almost enough to make him laugh, but he knew it'd _hurt_ too much to do so. When Steve's mouth fell open, his eyes widened as much as they would go. His eyebrows shot up, and he blinked a few times before shifting in the seat.

"Oh." Without saying another word, Steve turned the key in the ignition and then proceeded to break an uncanny amount of speed limits.

 **oOo**

By the time they'd reached Natasha's mansion, Bucky was delirious and completely out of it. Steve remained calm and collected, carrying the demon out of his car and into the mansion. He briefly set the demon down to unlock the door, before picking him up again and heading inside. Steve kicked the door shut behind him, and promptly steered himself in the direction of the stairs to go up to his and Bucky's shared room. _Gods_ , since when was it theirs? Steve shook his head to rid of the side-tracking thoughts, barely nudging his bedroom door open before dropping Bucky on the bed. He contemplated on leaving Bucky there, a logical part of his mind reminding him he could _die_ from trying to sustain an incubus like _this_ all by himself. Another part said he'd be _fine_ , he would make it through. And then there was that little nagging emotional side that said he shouldn't let Bucky suffer alone through that... through... _this_. Like he'd been telling the demon _over_ and _over_ , he wasn't a monster. His biology might be a _bit_ fucked up, he's not human anymore, but that didn't change who he was, or who he is. Steve repeats the three different opinions in his head, and settles for leaving. He stops briefly when Bucky sat up to catch his wrist, shaking his head. Bucky found himself incapable of words, and he didn't want to _growl_ at Steve, so he settled for a hopeful chirp that sounded oddly like a kitten's purr. Steve slowly turned to face Bucky, some part of him hoping the demon would regret what he was asking. The expression on Bucky's face remained somewhat hopeful, yet there was no doubt _regret_ was one of the many emotions thrumming through their bond.

"Please, _Stevie_." Bucky choked out the words almost painfully, a whine escaping him just as he did so. The noise sounded pitiful even to his own ears, but it caught Steve's attention.

"Buck, we _can't_. I won't be able to supply you with the energy you need, and I certainly won't _live_ through it." Steve kept his tone as calm as he could just like before, a frown settling on his features when Bucky shook his head.

"I don't need energy. I don't have to feed off of it." Bucky looked up at Steve again, hope shining in his eyes even as he tried to hide a grimace when pain flooded through his veins once again.

"And... the _other_ part? I know what succubi heat cycles are for." Steve spoke with suspicion in his tone, only slightly alleviated when Bucky shook his head once again.

"I... can't do that. Trust me, Hydra tried. For a very, very long time. They couldn't. I _can't_ , so we're fine." Bucky was fighting against his primal urges enough to have his sentences not sound so strained, yet his grip on Steve's wrist tightened. If Steve were _normal_ , he was sure the bones would have snapped under the pressure by now. With an indiginant sigh, Steve allowed Bucky to pull him down onto the bed. _Gods_. He was surrounded by a scent so intoxicating Steve wished he was a demon to enjoy it even more. It wasn't too lustful, something more inviting. Beckoning him into the demon's trap, and Steve found himself complying too easily after only a single taste of what the demon could give him.

 **A/N**

 **Kinda... disappointed.. it's shorter than the others, but my mom said shorter chapters is okay, but... I ain't doing anything below 10k words. This is 13k. REVIEW? PLEASE? SOMEONE? ANYBODY? SIDES FROM MUMMY AND KANNA?**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N**

 **Hello! Sorry this is 3 months late! I've been busy, I've procrastinated... but, here it is. It is finally here. I hope you like it! Please R &R.**

 **March 12th, 1971**

Long silky locks of ebony hair cascaded over pale, scarred shoulders. Moisture clung to sable eyelashes, framing emerald orbs that glistened in the candlelight. Bandaged fingertips brushed against bruised flesh; dark purple spots resembling fingerprints.

"You almost set me on fire last night," slightly chapped lips parted to form a grin, bedazzling enchantment for the gem-like eyes. Loki tilted his head to the side, his dark wavy hair covering some of the bruises on his neck. He pressed his arms into the downy bedsheets, sitting up by his elbows. Natasha rolled her eyes as she shook her head, glancing back up at the god seconds later.

"It was fun, and _your_ fault." Natasha grinned moments later, flashing Loki her inch-long fangs. The shapeshifting god stuck out his tongue, splitting the tip. He hissed; a quiet reptillian sound. Natasha lurched up on the bed, catching Loki's tongue with her teeth. The metallic taste of copper and iron lingered on her senses, while the god scrunched his nose. He tried to wiggle his tongue from it's place between Natasha's teeth, only to have more blood drip from their mouths. Loki waited for at least a minute before Natasha released him.

"That hurt," came the only retort from the God of Mischief. Natasha flashed Loki a blood-stained, slightly orange yet pearly grin. Loki's tongue slithered back into his mouth, the split closing. Loki rolled over onto his back, his fingers playing with the golden, meticulously crafted fabrics of the duvet.

"I can't... I can't _believe_ you did that," Loki hesitated and emphasized, furrowing his eyebrows and biting on his bottom lip. Natasha sat up, crossing her arms over her thick chest. The light silk material of her nightgown draped over her curves, pooling at her hips all the while blending in with the golden tones of the duvet. Loki glanced up at her, pursing his lips. There was a silence shared between them, thoughts and emotions being with-held.

"I'm... I'm honestly terrifed of going to _Midgard_ , with the lack of magic, the humans... And every horror that's _in_ their realm." Natasha began slowly, her voice low, heartbeat unsteady. She bit her lip, emerald gaze darting to Loki's stare of the same color.

"You're not exactly _going_ , you're practically being banished. _Father_ doesn't exactly take well to traitors or children who misbehave." Loki tone started off tired, and ended with malicious intent and disgust. Natasha gave him a sympathetic smile, her eyes dulled by her pain.

"I know, he'll be making my banishment official this afternoon. In front of all of Asgard, by the will of the _Allfather_ I'll be sent away as a disgrace. Just the spring I wanted," Natasha's voice was tight and clipped, and her expression portrayed just as much distaste for the situation. Loki frowned at her words, yet his eyes lit up with the way she said _Allfather_. Natasha knew how Odin treated his two adoptive children, _Natasha Romanova_ and _Loki Laufeyson_. Natasha knew what Loki was, and had yet to tell the poor god of his true _misfortune_.

All Odin ever truly saw was his eldest, and his _heir_ , Thor. While Natasha visibly and verbally disliked the God of Thunder, Loki seemed to admire him in a brighter light. Being the youngest of the three children, Loki lived in the shadow of the eldest and the middle child. Natasha was no goddess, however. She _was_ Odin's _Ward_ , and a beast of mythical heritage. The dragoness had been bestowed the title _Liten Drage_ by Loki, and the name had stuck.

When Natasha was brought to Asgard, she was little more than a refugee. Odin had _finished_ the war against the dragonkin, and the heir was what he brought with him; a _trophy_ just like Loki. Another _stolen relic_ , which set her already blazing blood to a boiling temperature. Everything about the _protector_ of the _Nine Realms_ irked Natasha, and she had only known hatred for him since she was a child. Loki, however, was brought to Asgard when he was only a babe and knew only the shunned life of the magic-using, male shapeshifter.

Loki could sense Natasha's distress, even through her silence. He crawled over to her, shifting into a female form. The dragoness instantly melted against the soft, pliable body. Loki shifted her weight to accommodate Natasha flush against her.

 **oOo**

By the time the sun was cast high over Asgard, Thor had already strutted through the palace. He arrived at the door that separated him from Natasha- and _Loki_ , unknowing to the God of Thunder. With a simple, quiet knock to the metal-wooden hybrid of an entrance, the doors opened themselves by magic. Thor did not pay any of his attention to the wisps of green; Loki's magic had opened the doors. The blond god was met with the sight of Natasha, holding her head high to retain a sliver of her honor and pride. Loki stood a few feet behind her, his gaze elsewhere. Thor sighed inwardly to himself, gesturing with his right hand for Natasha to follow. In his left was his hammer, weighing heavily in his hand. The hammer was like his heart, pinned to his armor where everyone could see. Natasha was silent as she eluded Thor, avoiding him with little effort. She dodged every question he sent her way, until one query caught her particular interest.

"Why was Loki in there with you?" The mentioned god's eyes glazed over; guilt with traces of regret. Loki had been undeniably self-absorbed, nearly every minute since early morning Natasha had been in Loki's company. She didn't have the chance, or _heart_ to say goodbye to anyone else. Natasha had been heedless to the God of Mischief's warnings, and now was faced with a simple, yet painful situation. It was a chilling thought, to be in Frigga's pressence- the goddess who loved all of her children, adoptive or not. Natasha made a timid sound in the back of her throat, stopping in her tracks. Thor had stopped seconds before she had, looking over his shoulder for her answer.

"He was saying farewell. At least _someone_ around here cares about how I feel... about... about _this_." Natasha threw her arms up as she finished speaking, exhaling through her nostrils. She hadn't caught the guilty sweep of her body Thor shot at her, pursing her lips in distaste.

"I have a question for you, then. What's _your_ excuse for not... _visiting_?" The words stung, bitter and venomous on Natasha's tongue. Thor picked the pace back up, with Natasha and Loki in tow. Thor avoided the question, eluded Natasha's glares. He only focused ahead, lips drawn into a thin line. It wasn't until they were outside the entrance into the throne room did he stop to speak.

"I... I don't really have an excuse for not... staying there with you during your last day in Asgard. I'm sorry, _Liten Drage_." Thor was being uncharacteristically calm; his voice remained steady, while his expression was blank, sapphire gaze directed only into Natasha's emerald fury. Natasha showed visible discomfort at her pet-name, it's meaning hollow to what it was before that day.

 **oOo**

The throne room was filled with nobles, commoners, guards, and of course, gods and goddesses. It was loud, whispers, shouts, and jeers from every corner of the grandiose structure. Odin sat in his throne, spear in hand, eye set on Thor as he _guided_ Natasha to the steps leading up to the throne. The two of them kneeled before the Allfather, showing their respect. Odin told them to stand, Thor quickled walked away to be near his mother. Loki had slipped away from the two when they had entered- not wanting to draw attention to himself. Loki was already at Frigga's side, and whispered to the goddess about Natasha's situation, despite the fact he already knew Frigga's word could never get Odin to change his mind about Natasha's banishment.

 **oOo**

 _"Natasha Romanova..."_

 _"For your crimes against Asgard;"_

 _"You are hereby banished to Midgard..."_

 _"It is my duty to protect the Nine Realms, and your act of treason has deemed you unworthy..."_

Words were meaningless in Natasha's mind, all she hear was her own heartbeat. It pounded so violently against her ribcage, it was excruciating. The only thing worse was the look upon Frigga and Loki's faces; the image had been burned into Natasha's very soul. She'd never forget how sorrowful those two looked at that moment in time- it'd be a constant reminder of how doing the right things can have consequences.

The consequence was losing the only family Natasha ever knew, the only friends she'd ever have, the only siblings she'd ever have- the only home she'd ever have. She silently mourned her own losses, while somewhere she yearned to reconcile. Natasha knew she'd likely be never given the chance.

 **oOo**

 **Present Day**

The streets of Brooklyn felt nostalgic, yet foreign and unknown at the same time. Oversized snowflakes drifted through the air, sticking to the cool concrete and grungy roofs. The sky overhead was littered with clouds in thick, humid patches. The temperature was quite high; it was a hot and humid day. A lukewarm breeze caused autumn leaves to drift on by, a stunning contradiction to the weather itself. Steve could feel the changes coursing through his body, an unnatural burst of strength that came from virtually nowhere. Steve had to be careful now, since sometimes he'd forget how strong he had become and accidentally break something. He'd be worried at first, then have erratic, panicked thoughts; what if he hurt someone? One of his students, perhaps, and his teaching career would be over- not to mention how he'd feel afterwards. Superstrength was unnerving, especially when it didn't have an exact origin. Steve just knew he was going to lose himself in a whirlpool of unnessecary thoughts, until he came upon his old apartment complex.

It was nothing more than an old, falling apart building that reeked of dust and grime. It hadn't changed at all, from the last time he saw it in his own memories to what stood before him. Stopping on the sidewalk in front of the apartments felt like a wall between two worlds, one of the past, and one of the present. The walk from Natasha's mansion had been an unpleasant one, long and tiring. At least, it would have been tiring if Steve hadn't found himself with certain _enhancements_. It was unsettling, rather. By the time Steve was on the steps to the apartment, the sky had been grayed over. A dark mass of thick clouds, with thunder roaring in the distance. Rain was sure to follow, it was only a matter of when.

A sigh escaping his lips, Steve steeled himself for what daymares and hallucinations he'd find within the building. Picking the lock to the front door was a surprisingly easy task, finding the courage to open it and step inside was another story. Steve couldn't count how many minutes he stood there, staring at an old door. After heavy silence with only his shadow to keep himself company, Steve slowly turned the doorknob to hurry inside.

A dark crusty apartment without power wasn't exactly the easiest on the eyes and nose, but Steve managed. He crept into the kitchen, pursing his lips at the sight of dirty tiles. A charred, bitter smell hung in the air, while a harsh taste lingered on the tongue. Steve scrunched his nose at the environment, scowling as he looked around. He hadn't hallucinated yet, and that was a surprising thing- but a good one. He hadn't been dazed into a stupor, stuck into a daymare, and hadn't fainted and been dragged into another flashback he wouldn't remember by the time he woke up. Steve found his subconscious to be the most frustrating thing he has ever encountered; it can hold enough information for him to teach a Demonology class, all the while when he sleeps it can show him his past life. Yet when Steve wakes up, he forgets the past? Even the famed Steve Rogers has a limit to his patience. With a grunt, Steve pivoted on his heel to leave the kitchen. Hoping to find something more interesting in the bedroom, he headed there without a second thought.

The bedroom had proven itself more interesting. For starters, there was power in the room. A light from the late twenties, early thirties flickered for a few seconds before staying on as Steve entered the room. The positively ancient, black-and-white screen TV turned itself on and played a static screen. Despite the lack of channels, the TV played an eerie, familiar tune one would describe as bewitching. A shudder crept up Steve's spine as he tore his gaze away from the TV, the bright-blue orbs focusing on the bed. A double was smack dab in the center, pressed against the wall. Pieces of the crumbling ceiling were sprinkled on the covers, while torn bits of the shredded wallpaper lay undisturbed on the pillows. The room had the air of the passage of time, little else.

Steve would have left just then, if it weren't for the fact he spotted something shifting under the covers. He cursed under his breath, slowly setting his backpack onto the rotting wooden flooring. The thing- _person_ under the covers stretched, light blue-toned skin peeking from underneath the blanket. Just as the blue skin hit the warm air, the color changed to a pale fleshy tone. The person hidden under the covers sat up, old biege blanket falling from their form. _It's like watching a transformation in the movies,_ was Steve's only coherent thought as he watched with fiery interest. The ridged, blue flesh faded to a humanoid color, pale- unmarred, smooth skin. The person- _man_ , looked like a porcelain doll, with long midnight locks of hair that reached his waist. He yawned tiredly, covering his mouth with his right hand. Steve stood there, frozen in uncertainty. Someone had been living here, in a _shut down_ apartment complex. Another unsettling thought, was perhaps they'd gained access to the inside the same way Steve had. _Breaking in_. Emerald orbs suddenly darted to Steve's form, and the man stilled where he sat.

"Oh, hello." A low, _calm_ voice broke Steve out his criminal thoughts. He was quite surprised that the first thing he'd hear from someone who's apartment he'd just _broken into_ would be 'Oh, hello.' Steve blinked several times, shaking his head before calming his nerves.

"P-pardon?" Steve's voice came out meek, in a hushed tone. The man sitting in the bed chuckled, tilting his head back. Long strands of hair cascaded over his shoulders, revealing a tauntingly flawless chest and narrow hips. Sable eyelashes framed green eyes that appeared to hold galaxies of color, rays and bursts of different hues. Olive, chartreuse, pine, moss, forest, jade, viridescent... all framed by emerald. Hauntingly beautiful eyes and hair were paired with sugar-cookie hued flesh, such a pale yet breath-taking color.

"Ah, I take it power in only one room is a bit unsettling, isn't it? My bad, here, I'll fix it." The dark-haired man's voice was hypnotic to Steve, and the blond found himself slowly falling into an abyss of collected calm. The man snapped his fingers, and the scenery around them shimmered, streams in the airwaves shifting into another area entirely. The muted noises of the apartment room- the ceiling fan, flickering lights, static TV; completely different.

Steve was in a forest, the stranger now clothed in black and green leathers. The sun overhead didn't have a single cloud to obscure it, while pine and spruce trees grew high and reached for the heavens. The ground beneath had turned to grass, overgrowing ferns, vines, rocks... dirt... while the surrounding vegetation seemed to burst to life, the common ambience of the outdoors suddenly flooded Steve's ears. He stood there, flabbergasted for quite a while before addressing the strange magic-man with a glare. A smirk and half-lidded eyes were all he received for his silent effort.

"Too much?" The leather bound figure stood up, pushing himself from the log he was sitting on with his palms. The waist-length hair swayed with his movements, like ribbons in the wind. Steve blinked multiple times, shaking his head.

"Uh, no." His voice didn't _exactly_ betray him, yet they were both unconvinced that Steve didn't have a problem with all of... _this_. The man waltzed over to Steve, glaring at a slightly shorter height.

"I have a few words for you, then you can go. Pay attention, _Rogers_." The magic using ravenette pointed an accusing finger at Steve's chest, those shimmering gems for eyes blazing with an intense focus.

"The moon sets on the brightest hour of the night, she closes her eyes as the horizon awakes to bursts of red. Cut off one head, many more will appear. Wisps of darkness will hold you in their grasp, and soon you'll be choked by the reality of the _Red Skull_. Run. Remember the name of your _messenger_." A smooth thumb ran along Steve's bottom lip, nail picking away at dried flesh. Bright green eyes met baby blues, two clashing galaxies of color. Steve tried to back away, only to be stopped by the trunk of a tall tree. The green-eyed ravenette tilted his head, the long sweeping strands of hair falling over his shoulder.

"Wh-what... what's the messenger's name, then?" Steve's eyes followed every movement the ravenette made, from the flutter of his eyelashes to chewing on the inside of his cheek. There was something awfully charming about the illusionist, with the way long eyelashes cast delicate shadows over sharp cheekbones, along with lips that kept inching closer to Steve's.

"Loki." _Loki_ closed the distance between the two of them in a feathery-light kiss, gazes still locked together. There must have been something in _Loki_ 's kiss, as Steve felt light-headed and breathless as the god stepped away. He struggled to breathe, gasping for air as he slowly slid to the ground. Back still pressed to the tree trunk, Steve thought he was having a panic attack, asthma attack- _something_ , yet every option or possibility seemed hopeless. _Loki_ simply stood there, fingers interlaced together as he watched Steve pass out.

 **oOo**

Steve awoke hours later, body pressed to the dusty apartment floor. The air was still and stuffy, while the apartment seemed to have returned to it's previous, powerless state. The lights in the bedroom, along with the TV, were off. The silence was both comforting and unwelcomed, setting Steve's nerves on edge. There was still something hanging in the air, the faint scent of chemicals reaching his nose. It felt unnatural, it all felt unnatural and _out of place_. In the distance the clicking of heels over dirty, frayed wooden flooring became louder in the span of a minute or so. Steve rolled over onto his back, glaring into the darkness. Ocean hues glowed faintly in the dim room, the images slowly becoming visible. _It finally clicked_ , he said to himself in the comfort of his own broken mentaliy. He figured it out- not all of it, but _something_. Natasha grinned, bearing her fangs at the sight. The emerald gems she had for eyes glowed brightly, as she saw clearly with her own night-vision.

"It worked. Something in this apartment must have triggered some response in your nerve endings, and ta-da. You can see." She leaned down, the leather body suit she wore clinging tightly to her form and preventing her breasts being pulled by gravity. Ruby strands of hair cascaded over her shoulders, glinting in the dim lighting. Droplets of blood were splattered on her cheeks, some rolling off her chin. She must have just returned from a mission, if the lack of ammo and faked polite demeanor were anything to go by.

"Nat, all that's happening is that I see in the dark. Also, I can't move. But this isn't the _super strength_ everyone's been hoping I'd achieve. It's _obvious_ , I just don't have super-strength from a vial of drugs anymore. My well is _dry_ , Nat." Steve sounded tired, he felt tired, and looked tired. Dark bags painted pain underneath his half-lidded eyes, his lips were barely shut. He didn't have the energy to keep up appearances anymore- his hair was wild and out of place. Streaks of gray were beginning at his roots, fanning out at his temples. Steve was tired and _stressed_. When he had gained enough feeling in his body to push himself up into a sitting position, Natasha was seated in front of him, scanning his form up and down. There was something her eyes unlike of the dragoness, a sudden fierceness that hadn't been there before.

"It's fine if you didn't get your strength back yet, or your memories. Everytime you remember, you forget. It's _fine_ , Steve. Becoming a weapon with super-strength isn't exactly at the top of your to-do list, anyways." Jaw tense, eyes widened and mouth parted. Natasha's nose wiggled when she sniffed the air in Steve's direction, and then she stilled as she did it again. A low, feral growl left her throat, and that was all of her hostility. She calmed immediately afterwards, shoulders shrugging in a rare display of comfort with her surroundings.

"I really should have told Buck _not_ to join you on your little assassin missions, you're turning into a bipolar nutcase too." Steve leaned forward, squinting at the red-haired assassin. Her expression was blank, yet her eyes betrayed her completely. There was curiousity shining in her emerald orbs, accompanied by sparks of disappointment.

"I was hoping you'd be happy he's got a hobby now, but I stand corrected. Well, _sat_ corrected." While Natasha retained her usual sarcasm, there wasn't any change in her expression or her tone. She seemed dead, almost. The mascara and eyeshadow was smudged on her cheeks, grays of shadow and slate, ash and fog. It was strangely beautiful, wings cascading down her delicate, pale skin. Steve merely remained silent, staring at her through bright blue orbs. With a sigh, Natasha tilted her head to the side.

"You wanna know how he's doing, I take it?" It was a simple query, short and straight to the point. They didn't dance around each other with questions, only silence in a pitch-dark room. The only sound was their breathing, and off-tune heartbeats. After a moment of thought, Steve spoke up.

"He- _Bucky_ , he's not all there upstairs. He's not an amnesiac like I am, but there is _something_ wrong with him. There's trauma somewhere there, that he hides with an undying devotion and love that I don't know what to do with. There's sometimes spur of the moment things, when Bucky goes from a soft-fluffy cat-like demon to a cold, merciless- _thing_. He's vicious, ruthless, and unstable. I just... I just wanna know what's wrong with him, ya know? Why he's like this, what happened to him for him to become what he is." Steve finished with a sigh, feeling like he'd monologued for far too long. Natasha had been listening- deep in thought, yet present for what Steve had to say. She pursed her lips together, narrowing her eyes by a fraction. It was the first facial expression she'd made, and it caught Steve's attention.

"I can tell you what happened to him, those fleeting images in your dreams and after he fell from the train car. All the agony and torture he went through- I can tell you it all. I saw some of it. But first, let's go to McDonalds and grab some burgers, I'm hungry." Natasha rocked in the place she was sitting, head tilted backwards in order to look down upon Steve. There was dread hidden in her tone, and Steve knew it'd be one hell of a talk, if anything it'd be getting to know Bucky better without much effort. Somewhere, deep inside the crusty crevice of his mind, Steve knew he _had_ to know this.

"Aight, but the $2 menus only. And a smoothie... or milkshake, whatever the fuck McDonalds sells." And with that, the two of them stood up and brushed off their clothing. Natasha's body-suit was near pristine, while Steve's scrappy outfit consisting of a torn pair of jeans, old paint-covered workboots, a _My Little Pony_ T-shirt, and an unzipped jacket. The casing of a smartphone peeked through one of his pockets, with a _Hello Kitty_ cover. Natasha briefly glanced at the object, before tearing her gaze from the offensive brightness of white and pink. Natasha let out a scoff, turning on her heel. The thick rubber soles of her boots made low rythms on the old flooring. Steve felt a wave of nostalgia as he passed through the apartment; even in the darkness some part of him knew this was his home. It always had been, it always will be. He may have been living with Natasha for nearly a year or longer on end, it hadn't felt like home. It _wouldn't_ feel like home. Even with Bucky there, it hadn't felt like home. Too much was missing from Steve's mind, too large of a gap in memory. He tore himself away from the abyss of hatred and unease stirring within his core, rather focusing on the rickety stairs leading down from the apartment. Several stairs were missing, others broken, and only a few remained in a condition well enough to walk on without fear of it collapsing under the weight.

It was an old apartment complex that had been neglected through the centuries, a melancholy sight. Cedar wood was rotting, cracking with every step. Ash colored support beams creaked with the wind, pulling the scent of downtown Brooklyn accompanied by a strong autumn breeze.

A small universe of blue glanced up at the sky, aegean rims, cerulean strands, bursts of indigo and cobalt blended with azure hues of lapis. A small black dot of a pupil was an inky darkness among the sea of bright colors.

 **oOo**

Natasha was sprawled on her couch, heels kicked off. Delicate shades of petal pink, with sable straps creeping up the ankles. A skirt hung loosely around her form, a deep black the same as the straps on the heels. She wore a black tank top with thick straps on the shoulders, trimmed with lace around the bust. She was comfortable in her clothing, and flawless after a shower and re-application of her makeup. Bright red polish spiced her nails, and a garnet shine of lipstick lined her lips. She was as beautiful as ever, casually-dressed yet intimidating in every way.

Steve collapsed on the couch beside her with a groan, distraught still. He frowned at the ceiling, furrowing his eyebrows. Deep creases were set between his eyes, and for that moment in time he truly appeared as old as he actually was. The mood didn't last long, however. After over a minute of sinking into the couch, an expression resembling calm set into his features. Natasha watched his change in expression closely, twirling strands of her hair with her fingertips. Steve stretched, bones popping and muscles heaving under the effort to become comfortable. His left eyebrow twitched, half-lidded eyes focused on the cream-colored ceiling above.

"So, what exactly happened?" Steve's throat was tight, and his voice was soft and cracked. The question had been weighing heavily on his mind, and his heart had somehow come up with a sorrow that had been waiting seventy years. Natasha shifted in her seat, hands in her lap as she sat up straight.

"Well, do you want me to start from the beginning, or skip to the middle of endless years of torture, torment, abuse, and trauma?" While Natasha's words played a playful tone, her tone of voice and facial expressions portrayed an honest question. Where did Steve want to _begin_? What did he want to hear? The questions swirling in his head made him dizzy; with a lick of his lips he spoke mindlessly.

"The beginning, please."

 **oOo**

 **August 11th, 1926**

School had just begun for another year, with the sun rising over the horizon peeking through patches in the dark clouds above. Brooklyn seemed to be a faded world of sepia, beiges and musty old buildings with crusty piping. The smoke from factory builings drifted in the wind, reaching upwards for the sky with wisps of slate and graphite coloring. Dark smoke meant hard labor, exhaust fumes a sign of the world slowly turning. It was hard to breathe in this old world, it was hard to simply _live_. The poor were becoming destitute with every passing day, nothing more than free labor for the factory workers. Children out in the factories, working just like the grown men. Young girls spun fabric along with their mothers or aunts, even grandmothers. Yes, it was a cruel world. While it had been illegal to use children as factory workers, most largely known companies ignored this rule. If there were accusations in court against the product, or the _production_ means, silence was bought in the form of cash covered in soot, sweat, and blood.

Steven Grant Rogers was not one of the unlucky children snatched away to work in factories. He'd been too weak his entire life, from the moment he was born. The doctors said he wouldn't make it, with his fragile bone structure and asthmatic lungs. He often became sick, attracting flus and colds from miles away. He had a high-running fever more than often, causing him to be bed-ridden nearly his entire life. His mother never stopped smiling, caring for him, and giving him the love only a mother with an undying sense of hope could provide. She'd been there with him every single time, holding his hand through the hours of the night. That's how Steve could smile, if it wasn't for himself, it'd be for her.

Steve was a trouble-maker, yet he had a purpose and glorified reasons for being one. Whenever there was bullying at school, Steve Rogers was there to tell the bully to stop and leave the other children alone. He'd take all of the punches, the kicks, and slurred words of anger. Nobody dared to help him, he'd just drag them down. Steve also made it clear that when he saw a lady being harassed on the street even after she said no, he'd go and fight them. Most men dismissed him, usually dock or factory workers. Tired, overworked, large men with bulging muscles and empty hearts. Every day, Steve would go out there, asthma and all, and try to be someone's _hero_. His mother would patch him up when he'd come home, and reprimand him with an uneasy, tired, yet caring voice. He was _trying_ , sickness be damned. _'The world just ain't right, I oughta do somethin'.'_ He'd say to her every week, everytime he came home with particulary bad bruises and deep cuts. There wasn't anyone to stop him, anyways. His mother, Sarah Rogers, a _widow_ ed woman who worked as a nurse didn't have the time to follow her son around and chide him for starting fights. She was rarely home, and when she was she had a nasty cough. Steve didn't try to make his mother any more stressed than he was. It didn't change his trouble-making habits, however. He was alone in his fight, and he knew it.

Steve continued to fight the worlds of sickness and reality for quite a long time, by himself. Everything changed the day he met one _James Buchanan Barnes_. A tall, atheletically built kid born March 10th, 1917. He was a year older than Steve, and not a single drop less of a fighter than he was. Steve and James met in an alley, when Steve was trying to fight off a group of dockworkers who had been threatening one of his teachers in school. It made Steve's blood _boil_ with rage. Mrs. Parker was the nicest woman around! Married, a mother of three, kind heart, yet a will of _steel_. She had strong arms, as she had lifted a lot in her previous career. Her husband wasn't the kind of man who wanted a wife that doted on his every need, rather he wanted one with a free voice and free heart. Emila was just the woman for him- and they fell in love, married, and continued their work in their careers. Steve looked up to Mrs. Parker- she didn't take any harassment or bigotry from anyone. She'd simply bat her eyelashes, chestnut orbs shining in the light through her eyelashes as she glared at the offender. Blood-red painted lips pulled up in a smirk, nails the color of her lips neatly polished. She'd always been able to defend herself, but not from an entire _gang_.

They spewed absolute garbage- insults from every corner, death threats, sexual threats, all the while backing Mrs. Parker into an alley, pressed into a corner with nowhere to go. Steve saw what was happening from across the street, and dashed to the scene without a single thought. Things went downhill from there; the insults were then thrown at Steve, yet he took them. He pressured the dockworkers to attack him, to _leave_ Mrs. Parker alone. Steve was an eight year old, with all the fury and rage of a teacup chihuaha. He was no match for the dockworkers, who laughed at his display of aggression. Steve finally attacked, swinging his small fist for the closest man's leg. He was kicked away, face hitting the concrete. Steve's lip had bust in the process, blood dripping down his chin wearily. He stood up, and threw himself at the dockworkers again.

He'd been kicked, punched, and thrown back everytime. Not a single one of the dockworkers had taken him seriously, yet when they had grown bored with their free punching bag, they had left. Mrs. Parker gathered him up, muttered her apologies and her thanks in a single, frustrated sentence. Steve _still_ looked up to her then. From the corner of the street, in walked a figure nearly double Steve's height. _So that's what kids look like nowadays, normal ones at least._ The figure came closer, to reveal a concerned expression and a messy mop of brown hair. Hauntingly beautiful gray and silver eyes were what caught Steve's full attention, as his baby-blues gazed up into those alluring storms. The kid asked if they were okay, what happened, and their names. When introductions came, it was like a new leaf in life was turned over.

"I'm... uh, Steve. Steve _Rogers_." Steve's voice was strained as he spoke, he coughed up a small amount of blood afterwards. The brown-haired kid didn't even grimace, but instead gave a small, reassuring grin.

"Steve, huh? I'll call ya Stevie. M' names' _Barnes_ , James Barnes. But'cha can call me _Bucky_ , it's what erryone else does." James' voice was a thick accent, even for someone so young. He slurred some of his words together, almost in a purr. He swayed as he talked, and Steve noticed the bruises and scratches painting his arms and legs. His face was _mostly_ unharmed, except for a single scratch underneath his left eye, right on the cheekbone. Steve wanted to ask how, ask why, and when. It wasn't the time or place, but he settled for introductions with a smile.

Bucky had been Steve's friend ever since then. Words of war were looming over the horizon, but that was okay. They became friends- best friends, and dreamed of being together forever to fight the threats to humanity. They hadn't exactly wanted to fight in wars, but they did want to amount to something. Steve liked his art, continued drawing whenever he had the chance. Steve and Bucky were small-time heroes, in their own sense. As they grew older, the number of fights they'd get in would increase. Steve would always start them, and Bucky would always finish them.

It was an offset life, but it was okay. It was _fine_ , just _fine_ , even when Bucky was drafted into the war. He'd spent some time in the training camps, and then was back for two days. Steve and Bucky spent one of those evenings at the technology convention, and that's when things became stressed; too tense for either of their liking. They might not see each other ever again- and the thought alone terrified Steve. In a world where humans still fought each other, and in a world where those fighting humans had to fight another threat- _demons_ , life was too short and spread too thin around the globe. The destruction of major cities was kept to a minimum, yet rural areas were hit the hardest. It was an uncertain world, one too foreboding and dangerous to truly let go of what would be lost. Steve knew, in the time frame he had known Bucky, he'd fallen _hard_ for the guy. Illegal act and frowned upon by God be _damned_ , he loved Bucky with every beat of his heart. Not like he'd tell Buck, the guy's family or even- Steve couldn't even fathom trying to tell his _mother_ that he'd fallen for another man. It was preposterous, really.

 _Preposterous_ , Steve whispered to himself when Bucky pecked him on the lips in the morning at the docks. Bucky had muttered _goodbye_ under his breath, heart already set on the fact he wouldn't return. He was going to the front lines, anyways. There was a great doubt he'd ever live, and it made Steve an absolute wreck. He kept himself composed, for appearances and reputation. Yet inside, the both of them knew- they both didn't want to part from one another. Steve cried silently to himself that night, in his own apartment. His mother had passed away sometime before Bucky was drafted, and while Steve would visit her grave every Thursday, he didn't feel like going this time. He'd lost the two people he'd ever loved in life, and didn't know how to retrieve them. If he could, anyways.

 **oOo**

Steve spent the remainder of his time to find some way to join the war, if _only_ to see Bucky one more time. _Once more_. He'd been denied at nearly every enlistment camp he'd gone to, except the one he'd visited at the technology convention. The scientist there said he could give Steve a _chance_ , and in this world, a chance to Steve was nearly everything. His entire life was bet on chances, luck, and desperate prayers into the darkest hours of the night. When Steve finally decided to meet with the scientist, Dr. Erskine, he was surprised at the terms of his _chance_. Steve didn't want to go to war to fight- he wanted to protect, and he wanted to stop the demons and their terrorization. Erskine praised Steve for his pure heart; _oh if only you knew what it called out for_ , and firmly told Steve to remain a _good man_. In the eyes of the law and under the scrutiny of public, Steve was nothing of the such. Steve was a filthy, tainted soul for being a homosexual. At least, he'd thought he was for a long time... all those years of Bucky made Steve question things. But Bucky was nowhere to be seen, Bucky might not ever be seen ever again. On his way to the underground facility, Steve met Margaret Carter, also known as Peggy Carter. She was an international British spy- who also happened to be an assassin. She was also Mrs. Parker's niece, which was a nice change of scenery- some kind of comfort and familiarity. Strong women, with fiery passions and unswayable wills. Steve flocked to those kind of people.

While Steve got blood tests, did push ups, and foolishly jumping _onto_ a grenade, one soldier by the name of _Sergeant Barnes_ was having his DNA pulled apart and put back together, demonic blood slowly being interwoven into his blood stream. He hadn't screamed in over a month, rather as silent as the static in his brain. James couldn't think, barely breathe, and didn't dare move a muscle. The _HYDRA_ scientists attached an IV drip to his arm, filled with the disgusting, acidic demon blood they'd been filling him up with. While the other soldiers from his squad were relatively unharmed, yet captured, they weren't suffering the same fate as Barnes. Everyone thought Barnes was dead, after the screaming had stopped. They presumed he was being tortured for information, but reality was much worse. Reality was an excruciating inferno of lies, whispers of foreign scientists that desired to create an unstoppable force of death for their own means. Barnes was already an excellent sniper, all that he needed was an... _improvement_. Barnes certainly received his improvement in the HYDRA facility.

Bright blue blood was being mixed with hues of red and white, purple and green. It was a devilish concoction, with droplets of venom for inflamation and burning sensations. It was a painful transfusion process, but _Sergeant Barnes_ had grown accustomed to it. His eyes had changed color over the course of a week, his body temperature had dropped several degrees after two, and his canines grew considerably in less than a day. Where short, dirt-caked nails had once been was replaced with claws that glistening in the low lighting. His fangs scraped along his lower lip, puncturing the sweaty skin. His blood tasted different, flavors of different demon-types too... _sweet_ , too bitter and acidic on his tongue. He wasn't complete yet, but damn near the breaking point. His eyesight was sharper than ever, and with every passing day, Sergeant Barnes was being shaped into an obedient weapon.

 **oOo**

Steve screamed as the super-soldier serum entered his veins. He heard Erskine shout from outside of the capsule to stop the procedure, but Steve knew he had to retaliate. _I can do this all day_ , he thought to himself through the searing pain. He shouted back- Don't stop, I can do this. _All day long_. The procedure continued, and with a bright burst of light the power of five city blocks was devoured by the numerous sets of machines. Steve was consumed by his agony, unaware he was screaming again. When the light died, so did Steve's voice. Everyone outside instantly feared the worst, and Erskine's voice rose above the rest, demanding the capsule to be opened. No one could truly believe Steve's appearance- not even Steve himself. Tall, well built, without any breathing difficulties or bone density or structural problems. Keen senses proved to be overwhelming, yet not impossible to adjust to. Steve repeated to himself that he could _do this all day_ , and that at the end of someday he'd see Bucky again. In a casket or on the warfront, Steve would _be there_. It may take a decade or so, but they'd see each other again. This life, or the next.

Steve had been unbearably distraught when his only two options were to become a lab rat or dance in a tight, gay-ass costume on-stage as a _morale boost_. It was a despicable set of options, but Steve took the latter. They'd be in Europe eventually, and when they'd be in the same area _Sergeant Barnes_ had been deployed, Steve would make his run for it. He'd only hoped it'd be that simple, but everything in his life never had been. It'd always been a long journey of biting and clawing his way up to merely stay above rock bottom, which meant death. Getting there was easy enough, but _truly_ being there was a different story.

He'd put together a plan with Agent Carter and Stark- which involved infiltrating, flying, and a whole lot of luck and intuition. Steve hoped luck would be on his side, if not for his sake, than the sake of the soldiers he was going to save. A whole lotta good fellas were out there, captured. Rescuing them would have to come first over finding _Bucky_ , if Bucky was still even alive. Steve prayed to every god and goddess he knew that Bucky was _alive_. Alive was better than nothing, wasn't it? Steve knew his friend wouldn't be in perfect mental condition, with the war and all. Adding being captured and presumably tortured for information didn't exactly improve things. It was a stressful mission.

By the time Steve had arrived and rescued most of the squad members, he realized Bucky was still missing. So, will all the courage he could muster, he paraded up to the group Bucky had been close with, covered in blood, ash, and mud, the lot of them, and asked if Bucky was anywhere to be found. They exchanged words around the campfire, one of them translating for the group and another man. The air was thick and tense, but to Steve's relief they gave an answer. It just wasn't as calming as to _where_. Deep within the Hydra facility, held within the _experimentation ward_. The soldiers exchanged words in hushed, tense tones. They had heard _screaming_ for the majority of two weeks, and suddenly, it had just stopped. From the cells, they could hear as the machinery worked. It had never truly stopped, but the screams had.

Steve had been furious. He'd ran in, without a single plan in mind. He'd wandered the facility aimlessly, swinging his shield at any of the guards he saw. He'd taken the head clean off of an energy-weapon wielding guard, and there was a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He _loved_ this. The thrill of battle, the danger, and the _purpose_. It was a new sense of reality that twisted painfully in the pits of his conscious.

When Steve found Bucky, it wasn't a heart-warming reunion. It was one broken man to a newly made one, and that hurt the most. The dark room was filled with still, heavy air. The transfusion machinery in the foreground hummed lowly, a reminder. Tubes were strung across the room, filled with liquids of different colors. Reds, blues, greens. All glowing dimly in the darkness, catching Steve's eye. He followed them intently, and strapped to an examination table was one _Sergeant Barnes_. Steve lost his breath for several seconds, all he could focus on was his best friend's broken form. A body littered with bruises, eyes blank and unforgiving in their dead stare to the ceiling above. The haunted gray gems glowed in the darkness, bursts of silver and white swirling in the orbs. Deep cuts were set underneath Bucky's eyes, little slivers of the moon painted red. A long strip of bruises colored his neck purple and blue, the shape resembling a collar. Steve scrunched his nose, right hand hovering shakily over Bucky's face. Steve smacked his cheek, and then cringed when the reaction was instant. Bucky snapped out of his trance, eyes glimmering as a growl ripped from his throat. He had moved in a span of a few seconds, hands around Steve's throat. They watched each other silently, as still as possible. It took an entire minute before Bucky registered Steve's facial features.

" _Steve_?"

 **oOo**

When Steve and the rest of the squadrant had returned to the camp, Steve was facing punishment. That is, until Bucky spoke up. ' _Let's have it for Captain America!_ ' Redemption wasn't an option, yet a cover of lies and secrets was indeed a strong mask. It had worked, for the most part. The group had become known as the _Howling Commandos_ , and had went on to stop many incursions during the war. One of the most prominent was an attack on Hydra, which had been creating energy weapons using an infinite source called the _Tesseract_. There was a plan to intercept a train carrying supplies and weapons, which had turned to be the one of the largest disasters and one of the largest successes. That day, with train speeding ver a rickety passageway, one of the Howling Commandos had lost their life.

That day, _Sergeant James Barnes_ lost his life, falling over the edge of the train. He'd been pronounced KIA, since there was _not a single logical way_ he could have survived a thousand or so foot drop into a rocky ravine. He didn't scream on his way down, all he could do is look lost.

When he was found, he was found by Hydra. They took him to one of their more remote, secret facilities. The experimentation started all over again. Blood transfusions, brain washing. Extreme shocks of electricity sent into his brain, collars and anything possible to remind him that he- the _Winter Soldier_ , is property of Hydra. It worked.

Sometime later, Captain Steve Rogers flew the _Valkyrie_ into the Arctic ocean, after a long and grueling melee encounter with the leader of Hydra, _Red Skull_. It was a game of tug-o-war over the _Tesseract_ , which Red Skull had finally lost. There were two bombs on the plane, however. Each directed to major cities- and Steve didn't have the technological wits to stop the countdown. Radio silence, followed by the welcoming embrace of the icy waters.

 **oOo**

Natasha exhaled shakily as she downed the nineteenth shot of rum that evening. Steve looked worn out, eyebrows creased together in concentration. If what Natasha had been saying was true, it meant Bucky had been tortured for over seventy years. And the entire time, some part of him knew Steve, and wanted Steve back. It twisted Steve's mind, pulling apart his thoughts, turning them into jagged pieces and broken memories. It didn't help he _finally_ was conscious to learn he's a goddamn _national icon_. He'd been pronounced KIA, just like Bucky. But here he was, sprawled on the couch of an international spy. Her long fiery red hair, piercing emerald eyes, and ruby lips. She could tempt any human or demon- all she had to do is produce her draconic pheromones. Lesser demons- and humans, wouldn't be able to resist unless they'd been exposed to the chemicals their entire life. With a sigh, Steve heaved himself off of the couch. Natasha placed down her shot glass, weary gaze following Steve's movements. She studied him, cautious for any change in body or facial expressions. Steve made no move, yet gazed out ahead of him with eyes glazed over darkly.

" _Hydra_ , what is it? An organization of sorts, right?" Steve pivoted on his heel, intense gaze focused on Natasha, awaiting her answer. The demoness raised her eyebrows in a perfect arch, biting the inside of her cheek. _It's not time yet_ , she thought to herself. Another part told her that Steve was ready- it's his right to know, isn't it? Natasha inhaled slowly, deeply. She met Steve's stare, sitting up straight and crossing her ankles.

"Hydra was- _is_ an organization formed during World War II. It was a Nazi scientist group, set on DNA experimentation, brain-washing, demonic blood transfusions, and weapon-creation. They had gotten their hands on the Tesseract, and had defected from the main Nazi group to form their own organization. The same group that used Barnes to clip my 'wings', and the same group that completely changed James' DNA to a half-demon with multiple different abilities due to transfusion types. After the _Valkyrie_ sank into the ocean along with the Tesseract, they'd been a lot quieter with their global activities. It's just a giant evil organization hell-bent on changing the world." Natasha spoke slowly, with a false confidence that didn't hold the same level as her words. Steve sat back on the couch, lost in his thoughts once more. The silence was tense, heavy and thick. It was a near unbearable weight, retained in an entirely new level of uncomfortable. Not another word was spoken that night.

 **oOo**

Mindless chatter filled the locker-room, along with steam drifting through the air. Exchanged words fell on deaf ears as many of the students conversed about sports, how much sex they'd had that week, and very few spoke of their studies. Steve had snuck in, migraine and all- hoping to get a shower before the afternoon classes began. He thanked every god and goddess he could recall on the tip of his tongue- he thanked them for for letting him still look so young even with all the stress of being a proffessor. Steve would forever refuse to admit that his slow aging was due to the super-serum- the _ineffective_ serum, that is. He didn't have sharp senses, or even super-strength. He was just... _normal_. A strong man, sure, but nothing _super_. Steve liked to repeat to himself that the past was in the past, a past he didn't remember. He had a new life, and that new life was him finally being able to step into a shower stall in the locker room. No one had seen him, and that was truly, a _blessing_. Maybe he'd be able to get through the entirety of his shower without being distur-

"Oh hey, Mr. Rogers." A youthful voice called out, just as Steve had pulled his shirt over his head. He turned to see one of the brightest students in his class, or pretty much any of the classes. He'd had straight A's the entire year, done 100's on every test- _shit_ , this kid was brilliant. Steve just couldn't remember his name, though.

"Uh... h-hi." Steve waved weakly, discarding his shirt to the side. He'd worn a T-shirt that day, and a pair of jeans. He decided he could forget formality for just _one_ Friday, hoping in the morning he wouldn't eventually regret it.

"Ah, don't remember me. That's okay. _Anyways_ , you often encounter weird stuff, right? I was wondering if you could help me with something later." Parker- _Peter_ Parker, that's his name- tilted his head innocently to the left, chocolate eyes shining with an unintelligble depth. While he was clearly trying to keep up a playful appearance, his tone was deep and undeniably urgent- it must of been something significant. Peter's facial expression, however, portrayed the same amount of emotion in his voice- whatever he needed help with wasn't something to mess around with.

"Sure," Steve responded without thinking. Peter's demeanor instantly shifted, back to a bright, happy person. His eyes shut when he smiled, bright and full of teeth. Steve awkwardly returned the grin with one of his own, albeit a bit _forced_. Peter didn't mind. He walked away, leaving Steve alone in his miniscule world of distraught. Steve heaved out a sigh, then continued with removing his clothes to take a _hopefully_ hot shower. When the water poured down upon him, Steve had a certain sense of relaxation for even the smallest amount of time.

Bruises littered his shoulders, scars painting his back- Steve wasn't pretty, at all. Steve hung his head dejectedly, form visibly downcast. He started down upon himself miserably, feeling every little scratch, every knife wound, every _bullet_ a thousand times over and over again. He had a cracked, torn heart. He'd had awful memories crawling around in his head, and not a single shred of happiness since waking from the ice. He single moment of grieving for himself was over when the water started to turn cold- and when he heard lockers being opened- more ambient chatter- and lockers being shut. The time period between the morning and afternoon classes as finally over. With a sigh, Steve shut off the cold water- drenched in the droplets, rolling down his pale, muscular form. He hadn't had such a poor appearance in quite some time, he looked sickly and tired. Steve was truly worn out, the entire weekend he'd spent in his room, without anything to eat- trying to get his mind to twist around his own history and everything Natasha had said.

When Steve found his thoughts silenced by his own sheer will, be stepped out of the shower stall with a slightly damp towel hanging on his waist. Steve quickly scanned the area, the sighed in defeat. He was too paranoid, on an edge he might fall off if he continued like this. He saw students walking pass, none even bothering to glance in his direction. Steve- he looked just like a student, another nameless body wandering the halls. There were other people with scars, just not as many. Some had bruises- some had scratches. Some looked exhausted, some were excited for the rest of the day ahead. _Youthful optimism_ , without the strains or burdens of being an adult. Steve yearned to be as innocently untouched as the students were, and felt another surge of self-pity as he threw his clothes on.

It'd be a long day.

 **oOo**

Fog rolled over the crests of waves, clouds the colors of slate and graphite. Ocean waves crashed against sharp contours and jagged edges of fjords. Slabs of ice drifted into the horizon, little specks of white amongst the dark sea of isolation. The _Valkyrie_ was plunged deeper into the depths, hidden by the ice flowing over their isolated paths- piling atop one another. A single, shuddering breath escaped chapped, stark-white lips.

Galaxy-blue orbs glowed dimly in the darkness, pupils fully blown to absorb the lacking light of the inky abyss. A blink, and then the world faded to nothing. Sleep called with a thunderous roar- deafening, and overbearing.

 **oOo**

"Mr. Rogers- _sir_ , are you okay?" Steve was awoken by one of his students gently shaking his shoulder, while his own palm was pressed to his left cheek covered in drool. He could hardly recognize the student- or his surroundings at all. Steve had four students hand out tests- and in all of the peace and quiet, he'd fallen asleep. It was unsure if tests had been handed in, or if someone had sneaked a photo on their smartphone of the Key he was filling out- all were a minor, stressful thought at the back of his head. When he blinked away he sleepiness from his eyes, he could recognize the timid student who had awoken him. _Peter Parker_. With gingerbread, cocoa colored hair- and chocolate, cinnamon orbs, he looked like the poster-child of innocence. Steve brushes a few stray strands of his bangs out of his eyes, sitting up in his chair.

"I'm _tired_ , but aside from that- I'm fine." Peter nodded and shrugged in one gesture, and from how close he was- Steve could see the teen was trembling. His jaw was tense- and he was avoiding all eye-contact with Steve. Steve briefly remembered Peter visitied one of the manor counselors in the Academy- Anna Marie- or more prominently known as _Rogue_.

She sometimes sat at the front desk, with a key danging from a keychain on her neck. Leather gloves protected her hands- or more importantly, those around her. A single touch would start to drain the energy and life force from your body- empowering herself. Steve had an acquaintance in her- worldless exchanges that consisted of nods in the morning. He thought she was okay.

"Oh... okay, that's... that's... good? I mean, you should get more sleep, but.. y-yeah." Peter shuffled away, his feet hardly making a shiver of noise as he dragged them over the wooden flooring. If Steve's senses hadn't been enhanced in the recent months, he wouldn't have heard it. The idea that someone could walk so softly- it baffled him, truly.

 **oOo**

"We don' see anyone comin' 'round 'ere in the Bayou, much less a lady of yer caliber. What has ya comin' here?" A smooth, Southern accent flooded Natasha's ears. She'd been stumbling through a swamp for hours, her trousers were soaked up to her mid-thighs. Her cheeks were red and puffy, with streaks painting her with a blotchy appearance. She sniffled, her tears long spent.

"Exploring, I guess. I may be lost, but I never had anywhere to be anyways." Dark eyes studied her with earnesty, framed by sepia-toned skin. The strange woman held up a bottle of whiskey, offering it to Natasha.

"Fine by me. Ya can stay anywhere ya want, then. Just avoid the cities, they're bad for ya." It was rich, honeyed milk, the voice that flowed from the stranger's lips. The accent was thick- yet foreign all in once. The stranger- _woman_ , it was clear she wasn't from these parts- something about her screamed something else. Perhaps it was her stark white hair, and eyes lit with a blazing intensity.

"You can call me Storm."

 **oOo**

Steve hummed a soft tune as he was washing the dishes- something upbeat, yet calm all at once. He swayed to the beat- only heard by himself in the invisible boundaries of his mind. He placed a shimmering, shiny ceramic plate into the drainer to his right- a quiet clink resounded in the kitchen. There was a small smile on Steve's face- the sensation felt satisfying, every little pull of the muscles sending more chemical signals to his brain. For an unknown reason, Steve felt... _happy_ , and it wasn't due to the staggering amount of drugs Natasha gave him- or how many his doctors prescribed him. He hadn't taken anything in two weeks- and he was on _cloud nine_. His upper lip curled- pearly whites on display, as another dish was set to the side. There wasn't even a single thought or memory running through Steve's mind- it was radio silence as he hummed along to a song that was engraved deep inside of him- it resounded with a low, somber tune. Within seconds, Steve could recognize as to what he was humming along to. There were lyrics.

" _Here's a dance you ought to do..._

 _Let me introduce to you..._

 _Posin', Everybody Pose..._ "

The rest of the lyrics to the song blended together seamlessly, and Steve found himself singing along- undisturbed, until he was startled by the front door being kicked open.

 **A/N**

 **Accidental cliffhanger isn't accidental. Suspense for what's coming. Chapters are about to get a lot longer, too. I hope you like it, and R &R!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N**

 **Apologies for this being so short... and so late... like literally over a year since I've posted. Do I have excuses? Do I have reasons, temperament, or a beta? Well yeah there's multiple things but hey this was in progress for literally over a year now and literally the last three lines I just wrote like five minutes ago because I got a sudden burst of inspiration and remembered a huge dickload of a character arc is about to ram this story's ass faster and harder than thanos or the colossal titan ever could**

 **oOo**

Steve placed the last porcelain plate in the drainer- then glanced around, his subconscious telling him that something was amiss. A cold draft swept through the mansion, directly to the kitchen. The power flickered for a moment, the microwave and stove reverting to their factory resets, loudly blaring high pitched noises as the clocks read 00:00. Steve inhaled slowly, his body tensing as he stood there, waiting. Nothing came, except for the silence that followed the flickering of another light, down in the hallway- past the dining room, through the double-archway. Electricity hummed through the walls, the TV a few rooms away spurred to life, static shown on the screen at nearly full volume. The atmosphere was shifting, slowly, carefully, yet with precision. Licks of darkness swirled in tendons across the walls, burning with the gap in the dimensions forming as cracks. Drywall crumbled beneath the weight of the shadows pressing to cherry-wood paneling and floral-pattern wallpaper. The creaking of floorboards was a deafening sound, but what stood out the most- was the low rumble from the mass of energies that was creeping through the hallway.

At that moment, Steve wished he was who people might have hinted he was. That he could be. Having superhuman strength sounded like a desirable trait in that instance, as the lights dim from the otherworldy energy surging through the building. It was gloomy, there was mist creeping through open windows, the air was thick, muggy, and suffocating. It was one thing to try and get away from the sound, the noise, the _demon_ that had found it's way through Natasha's wards. It was another thing to be face-to-face with the beast, rows of elongated fangs shining in the dim lighting coming through the window. A long forked tongue swept across those fangs, and somewhere within the swirling mass was a set of ruby red orbs- the color of blood that Steve might be spilling within seconds. Rather than attacking, the foggy form of the shadow-class swept and enclosed around Steve, exerting the powder from a demonic herb that would either poison humans, or put them to sleep. For Steve, it was a mix of both. Blood dripping from his nostrils, his vision spinning, limbs heavy, yet sensations painful rather than comforting. The shadows took form- which from every tome Steve's studied, it shouldn't have. Shadow demons don't have a definite form. They _can't_. It was a woman with obscenely long, straight black hair, emerald orbs, and pale skin. Her face took on a wisened look to it, she seemed older than she was- but she was a demon, after all. The last image Steve saw was a row of teeth as the demon grinned, too large for her face- distorted, edges contorting and barely holding form.

 **oOo**

 **December 28th, 2011**

 _H.Y.D.R.A._ bases were known to be in cold, frosted areas, or densely populated with forests and other forms of vegetation. Bases carved into the sides of mountains or deep within ravines, then overgrown with decades of pine or spruce trees. Unfortunately for _S.H.I.E.L.D._ , that meant having reconnaissance missions with some of their most seasoned agents, on the field, in enemy territory, to manage to get enough information down to pinpoint the bases. And unfortunately for Natasha, Clint, and Bucky- they were the three agents selected to find a base somewhere in a snowy, pine and spruce filled ravine. Like the edges of a fjord, the walls of the ravine were jagged and sharp, peeking through the thick snow and rigid ice. Below hundreds of feet past a train-track that ran the course of the edge of the ravine and into a tunnel dug into the mountain, was a bunker deep within the earth, carving into the ravine and camoflaged by the vegetation. As they encroached upon the grounds, Bucky's demeanor changed, as cold as the wasteland beneath their feet, surrounding them, enclosing upon them.

 **oOo**

The _H.Y.D.R.A._ base looked like what it was expected to look like, filled with German and Russian speaking soldiers part of a non-government organization. The trio of agents managed to sneak into the building on their on, slipping past guards silently and treading softly. In one instance, it made the situation easier, yet in another it only became worse. At any second, a passing guard could make the inference that the trio walking past them was not a _H.Y.D.R.A._ goon, rather, an infiltration. Natasha decided they should split up, look for main areas of interest, such as camera rooms, laboratories, or even offices filled with track records of the various experimentations, missions, and assassinations throughout the years.

 **oOo**

 **9:37PM, December 28th, 2011**

Natasha let out a stuttering breath as she progressed what could only be described as an intricate network of hallways that resembled a maze, stopping at the occasionally rusted, dented, worn iron door. The hallways were cold, ventilation systems filtering in oxygen-rich, enhanced air that smelt acutely of a hospital, yet the entire system screamed differently. There was copper and iron in the air, signalling a blood spill. Natasha paused momentarily, to watch her surrounding from a standstill. She was poised and ready to defend herself for any incoming attacks- seconds, minutes passed. Natasha was left alone in the corridor, so without much resignation, she continued navigated the halls that seemed to have no end to them. Door numbers passed, 1 through 95. The corridor she resided in was marked with the number 8- so each door had an 8 in front of the designation.

8-47.

8-52.

The numbers continued in order, and Natasha barely let her gaze skim over the old, worn metal doors. The hallway became colder with each step as she approached the 8-90's, ice having carved divets into the walls. Scattered patterns of crystals all navigated towards a door that should have been 8-94 in soldered brass upon bluish reinforced iron. Rather, there was imprints of the identification that had been there before, _1-6_. Hallway 1, room 6. For whatever reason why it was placed in corridor 8 was beyond Natasha, but this was the first piece of anything that seemed suspicious, such as _H.Y.D.R.A._ hiding another one of their secrets. She stood there, dumbfounded at what she had found- every nerve in her body telling her to move- numbers on doors was not what she was there for. But it was the number on the door, or lack of, that instigated Natasha's thirst for knowledge of the enemies, to expose their weaknesses even when deemed unnessecary.

Time slowed in that instance, as a heart thudded dangerously in Natasha's chest. She reached for the handle of 1-6 blindly, the sub-zero drop in temperature instantly glueing her hand to the door. With a little calling to the fire residing in her soul, she melted away the ice that was beginning to creep up her arm, freeing her hand in the process. Flames of hundreds of degrees licked at her left palm, melting away the iron door where she had shoved her fist into the now sloshy, gooey substance. Everything was bright red for a few moments, blinding, unrelenting.

After the blinding light died away, raw nickle and iron congealed on a useless lump upon the stone floor. Natasha thanked herself in two different tongues, a prideful smirk replacing the impassive thin line of her ruby-stained lips. The room within was darkened, a single dim bulb overhead lighting only perhaps two square feet. The _cell_ , as Natasha had discovered due to the old shackles and chains hanging from the walls- was nearly barren. The light gray stone bricks that made up the interior- such as the walls, ceiling, and flooring, were all cracked and eroded by time itself. The shackles were too the left, on the wall- where the most erosion and stains were found. There was clear signs of a struggle, and that a prisoner had been held there. It was only a matter of time until she found out who.

 **oOo**

 **10:14PM, December 28th, 2011**

The comm lines had been silent since Natasha had ordered Bucky and Clint to split up, each of them going their own ways within the base. Clint preferred to travel by air ducts, as he had a smaller build, and was leaner and lighter, it was what he preferred to go through, and to stay that way. Bucky could be soft and quiet, unrecognizable and imploring indifference in the descendants of his once colleagues. He had thanked his own shapeshifting abilities for being able to give him a more human appearance, that one of which lacking feline ears atop his head and a long swaying tail staying close to his feet. He strutted through the intricate maze of hallways with purpose, yet his steps quiet and unintimidating enough to not draw attention. He hadn't found anything, aside from a few corridors filled with blood all over the walls, dim overhead lights and the sound of screams from further below. That had been corridor 19, which was actually one of the older corridors he'd seen in the base.

In fact, he hadn't seen 19 since the last time he could actually coherently think after being morphed and mutated by Zola. Back then, the _Winter Soldier_ was an incomplete program, and Barnes, known simply as Asset, was also incomplete. His DNA had been fluxuating as much as a fourteen-year-old's mood during puberty, uncontrollable, unpredictable. Everytime he was strapped down to a table and nearly bled out what humanity was left in his veins, Dr. Zola would have whatever misconstruities of demonic energies and blood left over from when he was experimenting- to create the perfect soldier for _H.Y.D.R.A._ 's interests. In was there, in corridor 19, room 2 that a _monster_ was created. To the government and many intelligence agencies, the Winter Soldier was a myth- a ghost story created to scare new recruits.

Yet as Barnes passed through that hallway, the echoing of his own screams haunted him. He'd been there before, in the second room at the far end of the corridor- with a thick iron door covered in dents from where he had mercilessly pounded into the door, throwing punches blindly through his bloodlust. It took his stamina and what was left of his willpower to pass by the door, attempting to keep the monstrosity out of his peripheral. Within a margin of error, Barnes managed to catch a glimpse of those bold, rusty copper numbers. There was a new addition of dents upon the door, from what appeared to be someone's fist. All Barnes could think of is that they- _H.Y.D.R.A._ , had made a new soldier to replace him. Clearly an uncontrolled and violent one, like the trigger words were still being implanted. The only factor that did bother him was the lack of warmth in the area, the corridor was unnaturally wet and cold. Barnes was a cat, and curiosity likely won't kill him, so he pivoted on his heel and stomped directly over to 19-2, growls escalating in volume with every step. He mentality said fuck stealth, as he gripped the door handle and pulled with a margine of his strength, the door that was un-protected from demonic strength bending to his will. Everything flashed before him with one simple, slightly volatile movement- bones creaking from the added weight from the ice forming upon his hands.

Inside was something Barnes wanted to leave behind, never see again. Everything was the same, that window and door set to the outside world, frosted over from all the reaccurring blizzards in the area. Medical equipment strewn along the room, cabinents slowly collapsing on themselves, shelves strewn about along with the tubing and vials that kept the blood of many different demons, some of which had been used so long ago to shape Barnes into what he was now. Shaking his head, he turned around, out the door, closing it and acting like he'd never gone in there in the first place. His walk was undeniably a strut, yet boots clicking against the lineoleum was nothing but a whisper. There had been nothing to find except evidence of someone new had been created.

 **oOo**

Steve awoke in a pile of bones, most weathered, some chipped and jagged. There was barely any light in the room, the only source shining through an old slat in a thick, warped wooden door. From what Steve could see, the walls were made of cobblestone- painted by the blood of victims thrown into the pit. Handprints, words written a language Steve had seen before- they were Norse Runes. The wall was covered several feet all around in sentences that begged for release of their prison, freedom, or even death. To the right of Steve was a skeleton propped up against the wall, the skull falling apart and badly damaged. On the wall was a trail of blood that swept upwards and outwards from the skull, suggesting that what may have killed them had a tremendous amount of force. Steve pushed himself up with his arms, noticing a pain in the back of his neck, like he had a crick that wouldn't go away even when he stretched. Rubbing the irritated area with his fingers tenderly, he hoped maybe it was like a migraine, you had to relax for the stinging, pulsating sensation to retreat. It did not. He gathered his wits together, turning to the door and staring at it. It wasn't anything mighty, or too strong, from the looks of it. Just a normal old wooden door that was seen in movies that involved the middle ages. Steve stood up and made his way over to the contraption to get a better look, tripping over quite a few skeletons on the way. The door was engraved in runes, and as Steve approached, they began to glow. Running his fingers along the door like it was the spine of a book sent little electrical shocks through his hand, turning his fingers blue and purple within seconds. Steve pulled away, staring at his right hand and the discoloration. He felt no pain at the moment, like his senses were dragging along behind his mind and thought proccess. From Steve's dulled emotions, he could pick out something that shone the brightest- _frustration_. Everything wasn't right, everything was out of place and on the skitz. The light from the door was dimming, then returning, as if it was blocked by a figure- perhaps on the other side, coming closer, or further away. It gave off an aura, however, that made Steve's skin want to crawl directly off of his muscles, rotting in the proccess. The door creaked as it slowly came open, a tall feminine figure standing in the light.

Dark green eyes searched Steve from the tips of his hair to his muddy, bloody boots. Long black hair waved in the air as the woman swayed slightly, tilting her head as she inspected Steve. She was perhaps only an inch shy of his height- tall, slender and dignified. She donned an outfit of black and green, bared arms and shoulders with a leather tunic and pants that had a wispy pattern of acidic green acting as veins through the armour. She lacked stereotypical curves, rather retaining a boxy figure- the dip of her waist wasn't pronounced, neither was the curve of her hips. The feature that drew Steve's attention the most was her eyes and her eyes alone- acidic, emerald, jade, a myriad of the color _green_. Luminescent, casting a faint tint to her cheeks. As if she had applied black matte to her lips, they lacked shine, shadow. Smoky coloring flaming upwards from her eyelids, further accentuating her orbs, glassy windows to the soul that seemed to lack the appeal that such color could only have.

"Hello there, _Captain_. Last I saw you was in the pits of Hel, and now look where we are. Standing here once again." The woman's smirk grew, baring pearly fangs like that of a wolf. What would be a human's fangs were elongated, and to the left and right of each fang were a set of smaller fangs, shorter, yet as sharp as the others. She held a dignified pressence that made Steve want to remember her, if he even could.

"I'm sorry, have we... met before?" Steve narrowed his eyes at the demon, who tilted her head and had an open-mouthed mix of a grimace and a smile that stretched too wide for her face. A cold shuddery breath left her lips, as she straightened her posture.

"We have met, actually. You won't remember. You can't remember. You never will, unless you do as I command you to do." A single clawed finger was placed on Steve's lips, quieting the voice that had risen in his throat in protest.

"Before you refuse this generous offer, my dear supersoldier... I am not giving you a choice. I can control who lives and dies effortlessly, anything I wish I can make a reality. That demonic experiment of wasted potential that's become nothing more than your sex toy? I _will_ bring him here, and he won't be alive as you are. I'll plunge a multi-dimentional blade through his heart and neither of you will ever meet again. You won't age, and if you're not killed by wounds- you'll be alive forever. You'll see the world change, you'll see war, death, destruction- all that of which you fought to escape. All over again. So what do you say, _Rogers_?" The words held weight, as the demon's hands glowed a mass of green, covered by a black mist, encasing the magick. Her eyes shone brighter, pools becoming deeper- an inescapable ocean that Steve couldn't turn away from. Wheels and cogs in his mind were rusty, sparking with friction, but made him capable of agreeing, even against his will.

"Even if I do play your little game, who's to say I want to remember? I was perfectly fine when _S.H.I.E.L.D._ pulled me out the ice and said my memory was damaged enough I didn't know who I am, who I was, and if I'd ever remember. They gave me a name, and sent me on my way. I'm no longer _Captain America_ , I stopped being the Captain when Bucky fell from that train- I wasn't an innocent little kid from Brooklyn, I became the army's super-soldier and murdering machine. You think I want to go back? Give up what I have? A career, friends, and something akin to a family. I don't _want_ to remember, and certainly don't deal me into whatever you have. If it's to protect them-" Cold eyes of ice blue met green, both members of pained backgrounds and damaged memory hadn't made ends meet, until green opened her mouth again.

"It is certainly to protect what you call your _family_. It may be your _owner_ , her boyfriend and your demonic pet, say what you will, you are nothing more than her asset. You are _S.H.I.E.L.D._ 's asset. Can you trust them? The _assassins_ you live with- international spies all with many notches on their belts to symbolize those they have killed. Infiltrations, shooting down guards- their targets- what if you become their target someday? Can you protect yourself, with a ladel and some cheese soup?

"Can you stop Barnes' unnessecary attachment to you, using you as a food source... dissociating not at his will? He's a broken tool of _H.Y.D.R.A._ , a weapon created purely for the organization's will. He has _words_ implanted in his mind, if spoken, he'll turn on you all. Barton? The only thing he's ever wanted since he became a member of _S.H.I.E.L.D._ was to go home to those who raised him. He's been forced into the place he is now, the relationships. He'll kill you given the chance, then run. He has to stay to guard you, report on your mental state. Romanova? She's the only one strong enough to overpower you. Herbs, magic, hypnotization. Play my game, Rogers. Become my knight in a grand scheme to win your freedom from society's unrighteous view of who you are supposed to be. _Change their ways_."

The demoness raised her arms in the air to emphasize her final words, black lips twisted upwards in a smirk that defined her nature wholeheartedly. Her intentions were that of an unpure descent, corrupted and twisted throughout her life. Morals were damaged, broken almost. To a degree she cared about Steve- she had been a part of his frozen mind and body for seventy years- the connection ran spiritual, even if he no longer felt it. For exactly that reason she hope that he would remember all of their little talks, conversations drawn long into the night. How she taught him of myth and beast, setting his mind to creatures humanity had yet to encounter personally, had yet to believe. Legend has it that when the god of mischief had been born, Odin had personally forced demons from earth. All had become only a legend. Only two years after Steve went under the ice- the protective barrier had broken, allowing the creatures to once again invade the realm. Hel would be the victor of this battle- Steve, her pawn. Perhaps he would become her knight in shining armor, allowing her to retreat from her dark hiding hole of the land of the dead.

"Change _who_ 's ways? Yours? Your parents? Have daddy issues, family problems- want someone else to go out there and fix your problems for you? What do you even want from me?" Steve and Hel stared at each other for perhaps a minute, maybe more. Steve's brows furrowed, stress lines painting his cheeks and forehead. He had been clenching and uncleching his right fist, his left shoved into his pocket, fingers gripping tight around a lighter. The _goddess_ tilted her head to the side, only a single eye able to view Steve through the long strands of ebony hair, observe his reactions as he contained his anger perhaps only mentally, but not physically. The lighter beneath his grip was cracking, crushed within seconds- leaking flammable fluid on his digits.

"I want you to infiltrate one of _H.Y.D.R.A._ 's oldest bases and find my mother. You'll find him to be quite the eccentric, and a bit... _stabby_. He's not a fan of tall, muscular blonds, however. Quite the opposite. He will not accept that you were sent there to... _retrieve_ him, in a sense. His adoptive father banished him to Midgard- your despicable _realm_ , just like many years before I had been banished to this realm. Odin may have taken Loki from his frost giant parents and deemed him an 'Asgardian', as a son- he neglected his duty as a parent. Mistreated, thrown aside as the eldest son was praised- Thor, who will inherit the throne. It is not revenge I want- Loki can handle that himself. Odin 'Allfather' is already on his last breaths of life, it is only a matter of time. Time which Loki may not have- _H.Y.D.R.A._ doesn't discriminate between a WWII soldier or even a god, all may be assets to be corrupted, bent and broken to the organization's will." Hel would have let him protest, to refuse any offer or demand she gave him, however after three minutes of silence, Steve looked up from the ground. Resignation shone in his eyes, in the heaviness of his half-lidded eyes. His logic had been defeated by Hel's logic and morals- and to protect his own, he must abide to hers.

"Alright. I'll play your rescue mission game. I've heard and read some of the things _H.Y.D.R.A._ has done. In fact, one of their pets lives with me. I can understand why you'd want... _Loki_ out of that place." Steve found some understanding at that moment; people still needed him, likely continuing to seek him out from that moment forwards. All he needed now was weapons, a way to draw out the supposed 'super-strength' in his body, and a suit.

 **oOo**

"Barnes, found anything unusual yet?" Natasha's voice was nearly complete static over the comms due to their distance, but Bucky was used to the sound, and how to determine what others were saying. The fact she knew he found something with her tone irked him, all she wanted to know was what he had found.

"Yeah, actually. One of the... _rooms_ they used to torture, interrogate, mutilate and transform... had... recently been _in use_. They always clean up after they're done and out, but the room is trashed, there's claw marks and blood everywhere. Looks like that packed up as quickly as they had came and ran. Hiding something." Bucky gestured behind him, to the corridor he emerged from, while the two of them stood in an intersection. Clint was to rendezvous at the specified location, which was easy to find if no excessive turns were made. Natasha tried to call him over the comms, but all that came through was static on Bucky and Natasha's ends.

"Should we go look for him, Nat? Maybe he ran into some trouble." Natasha rolled her eyes as she barely put in an effort to shake her head, one fang brushing against her bright red bottom lip.

"Clint's fine, he screeches, goes 'hyah' and kicks people in the throat if they're too close." While her ruse sounded well-rounded, Bucky couldn't help but notice the worry in her features- but the low, steady sound of the bunker around them helped to difuse the discomfort forming.

"I know for a fact he doesn't, but he _does_ lose things easily and quite often. Especially his comms- so maybe that's it. That's the whole ruse. No need to worry, _right_?"

"It's better to simply agree. So... sure, Barnes. He's fine."

 **A/N**

 **So. Rundown: 4th marking period last year I enrolled into public school, so I didn't have time to write. Had to go to summer school for math. Next school year all I've done is sUFFER. I can't dream. I can't daydream. My writing and my drawing is on such a massive cockblock it's not even funny. But since around January, I've been writing fanfics in school and while the panic for finals and tests and quizzes and RESEARCH PAPERS is approaching, I'm ready, just like the AJR song... I'm ready, I'm ready, I'M READY DAMN IT. My notes are prepared. I know a lot about Europe and the witch trials. I got my sources. I got my notes. I'm an A's student. We're doing geometry, something in math i'm a god at and literally LOVE. I LOVE THREE DIMENSIONAL SHAPES AND TRIGONOMETRY AND UG H but best part is... I've been doing things faster, having more time, school isn't tiring me to the point the first thing I do when I get home is sleep, I AM MYSELF ONCE MORE ONLY WITH LESS TIME IN THE DAY AND I ACTUALLY STAY AWAKE IN MATH AND I'M LOSING WEIGHT AND BEING MORE ACTIVE haven't roleplayed in quite some time though, getting jittery, I want to ram peter parker so hard in the ass it'll create venom, Deadpool, and daredevil smut and fuck it'll be A MORESOME but no not yet. I watched spiderverse the other day and now I want mORE SPIDEY AND I WANT TO MAKE HIM SUFFER AND I HAVE IDEAS AND THIS IS SHORT BECAUSE I MISSED PEOPLE BUT YEAH A BIG CHARACTER ARC IS COMING WITH A LOT OF PLOT BUT GUESS WHAT? GUESS WHO'S GONNA BE LOKI'S BITCH? STEVE'S BITCH TOO KINDA? PETER FUCKING PARKER THAT'S WHO THAT PRECIOUS, INTELLIGENT BEAN IS GONNA DRAMATICALLY INTRODUCE HIMSELF IN THE WORST WAY EVER**

 **he's gonna come out of the closet by accident. locker room? yes, I do think so. this is gonna be f u n**


	6. Author's Note (also known as information

**A/N**

 **If you thought I was dead, that's okay, because I did too. But yeah. I'ma get every last creative and logical brain cell that I have left and put every ounce of effort I have into this as a great big "I CANT BELIEVE YOU'VE DONE THIS" road work ahead? hell yah I FUCKING DO HOPE IT DO BECAUSE GODDAMN I HAVE SUFFERED TOO LONG, MY NOTEPAD HAS SO MANY PLOT IDEAS I MISS THE GAY I MISS THE DRAMA I MIS AND NOW IM BACK BUT IM NOT THE BACKSTREET BOYS BUT THAT'S OKAY BECAUSE I MAY NOT POST THINGS WEEKLY OR BI-WEEKLY BUT I SURE CAN TRY BECAUSE I'M A BI THAT WONT BE ON STANDBI ANYMORE DAMNIT I NEE E**

 **i need to SURVIVE**


End file.
